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Digitized  by  the  Internet  Archive 

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http://www.archive.org/details/batrixOObalzrich 


THE    COMEDY   OF  HUMAN  LIFE 
By  H.  DE  BALZAC 


SCENES    FROM    PRIVATE    LIFE 


BEATRIX 


BALZAC'S     NOVELS. 

Translated  by  Miss  K.  P.  Wormeley. 


Already  Published: 
PERE     GORIOT. 
DUCHESSE     DE     LANGEAIS. 
RISE  AND  PALL  OF  CESAR  BIROTTEAU. 
EUGENIE     GRANDET. 
COUSIN    PONS. 
THE     COUNTRY     DOCTOR. 
THE     TAATO     BROTHERS. 
THE  ALKAHEST  (La  Recherche  deTAbsolu). 
MODESTE     MIGNON. 

THE  MAGIC    SKIN  (La  Peau  de  Chagrin). 
COUSIN     BETTE. 
LOUIS     LAMBERT. 
BUREAUCRACY  (Les  Employes). 
SERAPHITA. 

SONS    OP    THE    SOIL  (Les  Paysans). 
FAME    AND    SORROW   (Chat-qui-pelote). 
THE   LILY   OP    THE   VALLEY. 
URSULA. 

AN   HISTORICAL   MYSTERY. 
ALBERT    SAVARUS. 
BALZAC  :    A   MEMOIR. 
PIERRETTE. 
THE    CHOUANS. 
LOST    ILLUSIONS. 
A  GREAT  MAN  OP   THE    PROVINCES  IN 

PARIS. 
THE  BROTHERHOOD  OP   CONSOLATION. 
THE    VILLAGE    RECTOR. 
MEMOIRS    OP    T'WO     YOUNG    MARRIED 

WOMEN. 
CATHERINE    DE'    MEDICI. 
LUCIEN   DE   RUBEMPRB. 
PERRAGUS,  CHIEP  OP  THE  DEVORANTS. 
A   START   IN   LIPB. 
THE    MARRIAGE    CONTRACT. 
BEATRIX. 

DAUGHTER  OP  EVE. 
< 
ROBERTS    BROTHERS,    Publishers, 
BOSTON. 


HON  ORE    DE    BALZAC 

TRANSLATEr    LY 

KATHARINE    PRESCOTT    WORMELEY 


BEATRIX 


ROBERTS     BROTHERS 

3     SOMERSET     STREET 

BOSTON 
1895 


GIFT  Of 

Copyright,  1895, 
By  Roberts  Brothers. 

All  rights  reserved. 


®ntt)cr0ita  PrM0: 
John  Wilson  and  Son,  Cambridge,  U.S.A. 


NOTE. 

It  is  somewhat  remarkable  that  Balzac,  dealing  as  he  did 
with  traits  of  character  and  the  minute  and  daily  circum- 
stances of  life,  has  never  been  accused  of  representing  actual 
persons  in  the  two  or  three  thousand  portraits  which  he 
painted  of  human  nature. 

In  ''  The  Great  Man  of  the  Provinces  in  Paris  "  some  like- 
nesses were  imagined :  Jules  Janin  in  Etienne  Lousteau, 
Armand  Carrel  in  Michel  Chrestien,  and,  possibly,  Berryer  in 
Daniel  d' Arthez.  But  in  the  present  volume,  "  Beatrix,"  hcN 
used  the  characteristics  of  certain  persons,  which  were  recog- 
nized and  admitted  at  the  time  of  publication.  Mademoiselle 
des  Touches  (Camille  Maupin)  is  George  Sand  in  character, 
and  the  personal  description  of  her,  though  applied  by  some  to 
the  famous  Mademoiselle  Georges,  is  easily  recognized  from 
Couture's  drawing.  Beatrix,  Conti,  and  Claude  Vignon  are 
sketches  of  the  Comtesse  d'Agoult,  Liszt,  and  the  well-known 
critic  Gustave  Blanche. 

The  opening  scene  of  this  volume,  representing  the  manners 
and  customs  of  the  old  Breton  family,  a  social  state  existing  no 
longer  except  in  history,  and  the  transition  period  of  the 
vieille  roche  as  it  passed  into  the  customs  and  ideas  of  the  pres- 
ent century,  is  one  of  Balzac's  remarkable  and  most  famous 
pictures  in  the  "  Comedy  of  Human  Life." 

K.  P.  W. 


796230 


CONTENTS. 


PAOB 

I.  A  Breton  Town  and  Mansion    ....  1 

II.  The  Baron,  his  Wife,  and  Sister  ...  18 

III.  Three  Breton  Silhouettes 36 

IV.  A  Normal  Evening 47 

V.     Calyste 61 

VI.  Biography  of  Camille  Maupin  ....  74 

VII.    Les  Touches 97 

VIII.     La  Marquise  Beatrix Ill 

IX.     A  First  Meeting 142 

X.    Drama 156 

XI.    Female  Diplomacy 181 

XII.    Correspondence 200 

XIIT.    Duel  between  Women 220 

XIV.    An  Excursion  to  Croisic 235 

XV.     CoNTi 260 

XVI.     Sickness  unto  Death 272 

XVII.     A  Death:  a  Marriage 288 


TO   SARAH. 

In  cloudless  weather,  on  the  shores  of  the  Mediterranean, 
where  lay  in  former  times  the  noble  empire  of  your  name, 
sometimes  the  sea  reveals  beneath  the  shimmer  of  its  waters 
an  ocean  flower,  a  masterpiece  of  Nature ;  but  the  lace  of  its 
petals,  rose,  purple,  bistre,  violet,  or  gold,  the  freshness  of  its 
living  filagree,  the  velvet  of  its  tissue,  wither  instantly  if 
thoughtless  curiosity  lays  hold  of  it  and  brings  it  to  the  shore. 
Jn  like  manner  the  sunshine  of  publicity  would  hurt  your  pious 
modesty.  Therefore,  in  dedicating  to  you  this  book,  I  must 
conceal  a  name  which  would  otherwise  be  its  pride.  But,  if  I 
keep  this  semi-silence,  your  beautiful  hands  may  bless  it,  your 
noble  brow  may  dreamily  bend  over  it,  your  eyes,  filled  with 
maternal  love,  may  smile  upon  its  pages,  for  you  yourself  are 
in  them,  in  bodily  presence,  veiled.  Like  that  pearl  of  the 
ocean  flora,  you  shall  stay  upon  the  white  untrodden  sand 
where  your  fair  life  unfolds,  diaphanous,  to  some  discreet  and 
friendly  eyes,  though  hidden  from  all  others  by  the  wave. 

Would  that  I  could  lay  at  your  feet  a  work  in  harmony  with 
your  perfection;  but,  since  that  is  a  thing  impossible,  I  here 
appeal  to  one  of  your  highest  instincts,  and  offer  you,  to  con- 
sole me,  something  you  can  protect, 

De  Balzac. 


BEATRIX. 


I. 

A   BRETON  TOWN   AND   MANSION. 

France,  especially  in  Brittany,  still  possesses  certain 
towns  completely  outside  of  the  movement  which  gives 
to  the  nineteenth  century  its  peculiar  characteristics. 
For  lack  of  quick  and  regular  communication  with 
Paris,  scarcely  connected  by  wretched  roads  with  the 
sub-prefecture,  or  the  chief  city  of  their  own  province, 
these  towns  regard  the  new  civilization  as  a  spectacle 
to  be  gazed  at;  it  amazes  them,  but  they  never  applaud 
it ;  and,  whether  they  fear  it  or  scoff  at  it,  they  continue 
faithful  to  the  old  manners  and  customs  which  have 
come  down  to  them.  Whoso  would  travel  as  a  moral 
archaeologist,  observing  men  instead  of  stones,  would 
find  images  of  the  time  of  Louis  XV.  in  many  a  village 
of  Provence,  of  the  time  of  Louis  XIV.  in  the  depths  of 
Poitou,  and  of  still  more  ancient  times  in  the  towns 
of  Brittany.  Most  of  these  towns  have  fallen  from 
states  of  splendor  never  mentioned  by  historians,  who 
are  always  more  concerned  with  facts  and  dates  than 
with  the  truer  history  of  manners  and  customs.  The 
tradition  of  this  splendor  still  lives  in  the  memory  of 

1 


2  Beatrix, 

the  people,  —  as  in  Brittany,  where  the  native  character 
'allows  np  foFget^u)ness  of  things  which  concern  its 
own  land.  Many  of  these  towns  were  once  the  capi- 
tals of  a  IJttle  feudal  State,  —  a  county  or  duchy  con- 
quered by  the  crown'  or  divided  among  many  heirs,  if 
the  male  line  failed.  Disinherited  from  active  life, 
these  heads  became  arms ;  and  arms  deprived  of  nour- 
ishment, wither  and  barely  vegetate. 

For  the  last  thirty  years,  however,  these  pictures  of 
ancient  times  are  beginning  to  fade  and  disappear. 
Modern  industry,  working  for  the  masses,  goes  on  de- 
stroying the  creations  of  ancient  art,  the  works  of 
which  were  once  as  personal  to  the  consumer  as  to  the 
artisan.  Nowadays  we  have  products,  we  no  longer 
have  works.  Public  buildings,  monuments  of  the  past, 
count  for  much  in  the  phenomena  of  retrospection  ;  but 
the  monuments  of  modern  industry  are  freestone 
quarries,  saltpetre  mines,  cotton  factories.  A  few 
more  years  and  even  these  old  cities  will  be  trans- 
formed and  seen  no  more  except  in  the  pages  of  this 
iconography. 

One  of  the  towns  in  which  may  be  found  the  most 
correct  likeness  of  the  feudal  ages  is  Guerande.  The 
name  alone  awakens  a  thousand  memories  in  the 
minds  of  painters,  artists,  thinkers  who  have  visited 
the  slopes  on  which  this  splendid  jewel  of  feudality 
lies  proudly  posed  to  command  the  flux  and  reflux  of 
the  tides  and  the  dunes,  —  the  summit,  as  it  were,  of  a 
triangle,  at  the  corners  of  which  are  two  other  jewels  not 
less  curious :  Croisic,  and  the  village  of  Batz.  There 
are  no  towns  after  Guerande  except  Vitre  in  the  centre 
of  Brittany,  and  Avignon  in  the  south  of  France,  which 


Beatrix,  3 

preserve  so  intact,  to  the  very  middle  of  our  epoch,  the 
type  and  form  of  the  middle  ages. 

Guerande  is  still  encircled  with  its  doughty  walls ; 
its  moats  are  full  of  water,  its  battlements  entire,  its 
loopholes  unincumbered  with  vegetation ;  even  ivy  has 
never  cast  its  mantle  over  the  towers,  square  or  round. 
The  town  has  three  gates,  where  may  be  seen  the  rings 
of  the  portcullises ;  it  is  entered  by  a  drawbridge  of 
iron-clamped  wood,  no  longer  raised  but  which  could 
be  raised  at  will.  The  mayoralty  was  blamed  for  hav- 
ing, in  1820,  planted  poplars  along  the  banks  of  the 
moat  to  shade  the  promenade.  It  excused  itself  on 
the  ground  that  the  long  and  beautiful  esplanade  of  the 
fortifications  facing  the  dunes  had  been  converted  one 
hundred  years  earlier  into  a  mall  where  the  inhabitants 
took  their  pleasure  beneath  the  elms. 

The  houses  of  the  old  town  have  suffered  no  change ; 
and  they  have  neither  increased  nor  diminished.  None 
have  suffered  upon  their  frontage  from  the  hammer  of 
the  architect,  the  brush  of  the  plasterer,  nor  have  they 
staggered  under  the  weight  of  added  stories.  All 
retain  their  primitive  characteristics.  Some  rest  on 
wooden  columns  which  form  arcades  under  which  foot- 
passengers  circulate,  the  floor  planks  bending  beneath 
them,  but  never  breaking.  The  houses  of  the  merchants 
are  small  and  low ;  their  fronts  are  veneered  with  slate. 
Wood,  now  decaying,  counts  for  much  in  the  carved 
material  of  the  window-casings  and  the  pillars,  above 
which  grotesque  faces  look  down,  while  shapes  of 
fantastic  beasts  climb  up  the  angles,  animated  by 
that  great  thought  of  Art,  which  in  those  old  days 
gave  life  to  inanimate  nature.      These  relics,  resisting 


4  Beatrix, 

change,  present  to  the  eye  of  painters  those  dusky 
tones  and  half-blurred  features  in  which  the  artistic 
brush  delights. 

The  streets  are  what  they  were  four  hundred  years 
ago,  —  with  one  exception :  population  no  longer 
swarms  there ;  the  social  movement  is  now  so  dead 
that  a  traveller  wishing  to  examine  the  town  (as  beau- 
tiful as  a  suit  of  antique  armor)  may  walk  alone,  not 
without  sadness,  through  a  deserted  street,  where  the 
mullioned  windows  are  plastered  up  to  avoid  the  win- 
dow-tax. This  street  ends  at  a  postern,  flanked  with 
a  wall  of  masonry,  beyond  which  rises  a  bouquet  of 
trees  planted  by  the  hands  of  Breton  nature,  one  of  the 
most  luxuriant  and  fertile  vegetations  in  France.  A 
painter,  a  poet  would  sit  there  silently,  to  taste  the 
quietude  which  reigns  beneath  the  well-preserved  arch 
of  the  postern,  where  no  voice  comes  from  the  life  of 
the  peaceful  city,  and  where  the  landscape  is  seen  in  its 
rich  magnificence  through  the  loop  holes  of  the  case- 
mates once  occupied  by  halberdiers  and  archers,  which 
are  not  unlike  the  sashes  of  some  belvedere  arranged 
for  a  point  of  view. 

It  is  impossible  to  walk  about  the  place  without 
thinking  at  every  step  of  the  habits  and  usages  of 
long-past  times ;  the  very  stones  tell  of  them ;  the 
ideas  of  the  middle  ages  are  still  there  with  all  their 
ancient  superstitions.  If,  by  chance,  a  gendarme 
passes  you,  with  his  silver-laced  hat,  his  presence  is  an 
anachronism  against  which  your  sense  of  fitness  pro- 
tests ;  but  nothing  is  so  rare  as  to  meet  a  being  or  an 
object  of  the  present  time.  There  is  even  very  little 
of  the  clothing  of  the  day ;  and  that  little  the  inhabi- 


Beatrix,  5 

tants  adapt  in  a  way  to  their  immutable  customs,  their 
unchangeable  physiognomies.  The  public  square  is 
filled  with  Breton  costumes,  which  artists  flock  to 
draw;  these  stand  out  in  wonderful  relief  upon  the 
scene  around  them.  The  whiteness  of  the  linen  worn 
by  the  paludiers  (the  name  given  to  men  who  gather 
salt  in  the  salt-marshes)  contrasts  vigorously  with  the 
blues  and  browns  of  the  peasantry  and  the  original  and 
sacredly  preserved  jewelry  of  the  women.  These  two 
classes,  and  that  of  the  sailors  in  their  jerkins  and 
varnished  leather  caps  are  as  distinct  from  one  another 
as  the  castes  of  India,  and  still  recognize  the  distance 
that  parts  them  from  the  bourgeoisie,  the  nobility,  and 
the  clergy.  AU  lines  are  clearly  marked ;  there  the 
revolutionary  level  found  the  masses  too  rugged  and  too 
hard  to  plane ;  its  instrument  would  have  been  notched, 
if  not  broken.  The  character  of  immutability  which 
science  gives  to  zoological  species  is  found  in  Breton 
human  nature.  Even  now,  after  the  Revolution  of 
1830,  Guerande  is  still  a  town  apart,  essentially 
Breton,  fervently  Catholic,  silent,  self-contained,  —  a 
place  where  modern  ideas  have  little  access. 

Its  geographical  position  explains  this  phenomenon. 
The  pretty  town  overlooks  a  salt-marsh,  the  product  of 
which  is  called  throughout  Brittany  the  Guerande  salt, 
to  which  many  Bretons  attribute  the  excellence  of  their 
butter  and  their  sardines.  It  is  connected  with  the 
rest  of  France  by  two  roads  only :  that  coming  from 
Savenay,  the  arrondissement  to  which  it  belongs, 
which  stops  at  Saint-Nazaire ;  and  a  second  road, 
loading  from  Vannes,  which  connects  it  with  the  Morbi- 
hiin.     The  arrondissement  road  establishes  communi- 


6  Beatrix, 

cation  by  land,  and  from  Saint-Nazaire  by  water,  with 
Nantes.  The  land  road  is  used  only  by  government ; 
the  more  rapid  and  more  frequented  way  being  by 
water  from  Saint-Nazaire.  Now,  between  this  village 
and  Guerande  is  a  distance  of  eighteen  miles,  which  the 
mail-coach  does  not  serve,  and  for  good  reason ;  not 
three  coach  passengers  a  year  would  pass  over  it. 

These,  and  other  obstacles,  little  fitted  to  encourage 
travellers,  still  exist.  In  the  first  place,  government  is 
slow  in  its  proceedings ;  and  next,  the  inhabitants  of  the 
region  put  up  readily  enough  with  diflaculties  which 
separate  them  from  the  rest  of  France.  Guerande, 
therefore,  being  at  the  extreme  end  of  the  continent, 
leads  nowhere,  and  no  one  comes  there.  Glad  to  be 
ignored,  she  thinks  and  cares  about  herself  only.  The 
immense  product  of  her  salt-marshes,  which  pays  a 
tax  of  not  less  than  a  million  to  the  Treasury,  is 
chiefly  managed  at  Croisic,  a  peninsular  village  which 
communicates  with  Guerande  over  quicksands  which 
efface  during  the  night  the  tracks  made  by  day,  and 
also  by  boats  which  cross  the  arm  of  the  sea  that 
makes  the  port  of  Croisic. 

This  fascinating  little  town  is  therefore  the  Hercula- 
neum  of  feudality,  less  its  winding  sheet  of  lava.  It 
is  afoot,  but  not  living ;  it  has  no  other  ground  of  ex- 
istence  except  that  it  has  not  been  demolished.  If  you 
reach  Guerande  from  Croisic,  after  crossing  a  dreary 
landscape  of  salt-marshes,  you  will  experience  a  strong 
sensation  at  sight  of  that  vast  fortification,  which  is 
still  as  good  as  ever.  If  you  come  to  it  by  Saint- 
Nazaire,  the  picturesqueness  of  its  position  and  the 
naive  grace  of  its  environs  will  please  you  no  less. 


BSatrix*  7 

The  country  immediately  surrounding  it  is  ravishing ; 
the  hedges  are  full  of  flowers,  honeysuckles,  roses, 
box,  and  many  enchanting  plants.  It  is  like  an 
English  garden,  designed  by  some  great  architect. 
This  rich,  coy  nature,  so  untrodden,  with  all  the  grace 
of  a  bunch  of  violets  or  a  lily  of  the  valley  in  the  glade 
of  a  forest,  is  framed  by  an  African  desert  banked  by 
the  ocean,  —  a  desert  without  a  tree,  an  herb,  a  bird  ; 
where,  on  sunny  days,  the  laboring  paludiers^  clothed 
in  white  and  scattered  among  those  melancholy 
swamps  where  the  salt  is  made,  remind  us  of  Arabs  m 
their  burrows. 

Thus  Guerande  bears  no  resemblance  to  any  other 
place  in  France.  The  town  produces  somewhat  the 
same  effect  upon  the  mind  as  a  sleeping-draught  upon 
the  body.  It  is  silent  as  Venice.  There  is  no  other 
public  conveyance  than  the  springless  wagon  of  a  car- 
rier who  carries  travellers,  merchandise,  and  occasion- 
ally letters  from  Saint-Nazaire  to  Guerande  and  vice 
versa,  Bernus,  the  carrier,  was,  in  1829,  the  factotum 
of  this  large  community.  He  went  and  came  when  he 
pleased ;  all  the  country  knew  him ;  and  he  did  the  er- 
rands of  all.  The  arrival  of  a  carriage  in  Guerande, 
that  of  a  lady  or  some'  invalid  going  to  Croisic  for  sea- 
bathing (thought  to  have  greater  virtue  among  those 
rocks  than  at  Boulogne  or  Dieppe)  is  still  %n  immense 
event.  The  peasants  come  in  on  horseback,  most  of 
them  with  commodities  for  barter  in  sacks.  They  are 
induced  to  do  so  (and  so  are  the  paludiers)  by  the 
necessity  of  purchasing  the  jewels  distinctive  of  their 
caste  which  are  given  to  all  Breton  brides,  and  the 
white  linen,  or  cloth  for  their  clothing. 


8  Beatrix. 

For  a  circuit  ten  miles  round,  Guerande  is  always 
GuERANDE,  —  the  illustrious  town  where  the  famous 
treaty  was  signed  in  1365,  the  key  of  the  coast,  w^hich 
may  boast,  not  less  than  the  village  of  Batz,  of  a 
splendor  now  lost  in  the  night  of  time.  The  jewels, 
linen,  cloth,  ribbon,  and  hats  are  made  elsewhere,  but 
to  those  who  buy  them  they  are  from  Guerande  and 
nowhere  else.  All  artists,  and  even  certain  bourgeois, 
who  come  to  Guerande  feel,  as  they  do  at  Venice,  a 
desire  (soon  forgotten)  to  end  their  days  amid  its 
peace  and  silence,  walking  in  fine  weather  along  the 
beautiful  mall  which  surrounds  tlie  town  from  gate  to 
gate  on  the  side  toward  the  sea.  Sometimes  the  image 
of  this  town  arises,  in  the  temple  of  memory;  she 
enters,  crowned  with  her  towers,  clasped  with  her 
girdle ;  her  flower-strewn  robe  floats  onward,  the  golden 
mantle  of  her  dunes  enfolds  her,  the  fragrant  breath 
of  her  briony  paths,  filled  with  the  flowers  of  each 
passing  season,  exhales  at  every  step;  she  fills  your 
mind,  she  calls  to  you  like  some  enchanting  woman 
whom  you  have  met  in  other  climes  and  whose  presence 
still  lingers  in  a  fold  of  your  heart. 

Near  the  church  of  Guerande  stands  a  mansion  which 
is  to  the  town  what  the  town  is  to  the  region,  an  exact 
image  of  the  past,  the  symbol  of  a  grand  thing  de- 
stroyed, —  a  poem,  in  short.  This  mansion  belongs  to 
the  noblest  family  of  the  province  ;  to  the  du  Guaisnics, 
who,  in  the  times  of  the  du  Guesclins,  were  as  superior 
to  the  latter  in  antiquity  and  fortune  as  the  Trojans 
were  to  the  Romans.  The  Guaisqlains  (the  name  is 
also  spelled  in  the  olden  timedu  Glaicquin),  from  which 
comes  du  Guesclin,  issued  from  the  Guaisnics. 


BSatrix,  9 

Old  as  the  granite  of  Brittany,  the  Guaisnics  are 
neither  Frenchmen  nor  Gauls,  —  they  are  Bretons  ;  or,  to 
be  more  exact,  they  are  Celts.  Formerly,  they  must 
have  been  Druids,  gathering  mistletoe  in  the  sacred 
forests  and  sacrificing  men  upon  their  dolmens.  Use- 
less to  say  what  they  were  !  To-day  this  race,  equal  to 
the  Rohans  without  having  deigned  to  make  themselves 
princes,  a  race  which  was  powerful  before  the  ancestors 
of  Ungues  Capet  were  ever  heard  of,  this  family,  pure 
of  all  alloy,  possesses  two  thousand  francs  a  year,  its 
mansion  in  Guerande,  and  the  little  castle  of  Guaisnic. 
All  the  lands  belonging  to  the  barony  of  Guaisnic,  the 
first  in  Brittany,  are  pledged  to  farmers,  and  bring  in 
sixty  thousand  francs  a  year,  in  spite  of  ignorant  cul- 
ture. The  du  Guaisnics  remain  the  owners  of  these 
lands  although  they  receive  none  of  the  revenues,  for 
the  reason  that  for  the  last  two  hundred  years  they 
have  been  unable  to  pay  off  the  money  advanced  upon 
them.  They  are  in  the  position  of  the  crown  of 
France  towards  its  engagistes  (tenants  of  crown-lands) 
before  the  year  1789.  Where  and  when  could  the 
barons  obtain  the  million  their  farmers  have  advanced 
to  them?  Before  1789  the  tenure  of  the  fiefs  subject 
to  the  castle  of  Guaisnic  was  still  worth  fifty  thousand 
francs  a  year ;  but  a  vote  of  the  National  Assembly 
suppressed  the  seigneurs'  dues  levied  on  inheritance. 

In  such  a  situation  this  family  —  of  absolutely  no 
account  in  France,  and  which  would  be  a  subject  of 
laughter  in  Paris,  were  it  known  there  —  is  to  Gudrande 
the  whole  of  Brittany.  In  Guerande  the  Baron  du 
Guaisnic  is  one  of  the  great  barons  of  France,  a  man 
above   whom   there   is   but  one  man,  —  tlie  King  of 


10  'Beatrix, 

France,  once  elected  ruler.  To-day  the  name  of  da 
Guaisnic,  full  of  Breton  significances  (the  roots  of 
which  will  be  found  explained  in  "  The  Chouans")  has 
been  subjected  to  the  same  alteration  which  disfigures 
that  of  du  Guaisqlain.  The  tax-gatherer  now  writes 
the  name,  as  do  the  rest  of  the  world,  du  Guenic. 

At  the  end  of  a  silent,  damp,  and  gloomy  lane  may 
be  seen  the  arch  of  a  door,  or  rather  gate,  high  enough 
and  wide  enough  to  admit  a  man  on  horseback,  —  a  cir- 
cumstance which  proves  of  itself  that  when  this  build- 
ing was  erected  carriages  did  not  exist.  The  arch, 
supported  by  two  jambs,  is  of  granite.  The  gate,  of 
oak,  rugged  as  the  bark  of  the  tree  itself,  is  studded 
with  enormous  nails  placed  in  geometric  figures.  The 
arch  is  semicircular.  On  it  are  carved  the  arms  of  the 
Guaisnics  as  clean-cut  and  clear  as  though  the  sculp- 
tor had  just  laid  down  his  chisel.  This  escutcheon 
would  delight  a  lover  of  the  heraldic  art  by  a  simplicity 
which  proves  the  pride  and  the  antiquity  of  the  family. 
It  is  as  it  was  in  the  days  when  the  crusaders  of  the 
Christian  world  invented  these  symbols  by  which  to 
recognize  each  other ;  the  Guaisnics  have  never  had  it 
quartered ;  it  is  always  itself,  like  that  of  the  house  of 
France,  which  connoisseurs  find  inescutcheoned  in  the 
shields  of  many  of  the  old  families.  Here  it  is,  such 
as  you  may  see  it  still  at  Guerande :  Gules,  a  hand 
proper  gonfaloned  ermine,  with  a  sword  argent  in  pale, 
and  the  terrible  motto,  Fac.  Is  not  that  a  grand  and 
noble  thing?  The  circlet  of  a  baronial  coronet  sur- 
mounts this  simple  escutcheon,  the  vertical  lines  of 
which,  used  in  carving  to  represent  gnles,  are  clear 
as    ever.     The   artist    has    given  I    know   not    what 


Biatrix.  11 

proud,  chivalrous  turn  to  the  hand.  With  what  vigor 
it  holds  the  sword  which  served  but  recently  the 
present  family ! 

If  you  go  to  Guerande  after  reading  this  history  you 
cannot  fail  to  quiver  when  you  see  that  blazon.  Yes, 
the  most  confirmed  republican  would  be  moved  by  the 
fidelity,  the  nobleness,  the  grandeur  hidden  in  the 
depths  of  that  dark  lane.  The  du  Guaisnics  did  well 
yesterday,  and  they  are  ready  to  do  well  to-morrow. 
To  DO  is  the  motto  of  chivalry.  ''  You  did  well  in  the 
battle  "  was  the  praise  of  the  Connetable  par  excel- 
lence^ the  great  du  Guesclin  who  drove  the  English  for 
a  time  from  France.  The  depth  of  this  carving,  which 
has  been  protected  from  the  weather  by  the  projecting 
edges  of  the  arch,  is  in  keeping  with  the  moral  depth 
of  the  motto  in  the  soul  of  this  family.  To  those  who 
know  the  Guaisnics  this  fact  is  touching. 

The  gate  when  open  gives  a  vista  into  a  somewhat 
vast  court-yard,  on  the  right  of  which  are  the  stables, 
on  the  left  the  kitchen  and  oflSces.  The  house  is  built 
of  freestone  from  cellar  to  garret.  The  faqade  on  the 
court-yard  has  a  portico  with  a  double  range  of  steps, 
the  wall  of  which  is  covered  with  vestiges  of  carvings 
now  effaced  by  time,  but  in  which  the  eye  of  an  anti- 
quary can  still  make  out  in  the  centre  of  the  principal 
mass  the  Hand  bearing  the  sword.  The  granite  steps 
are  now  disjointed,  grasses  have  forced  their  way  with 
little  flowers  and  mosses  through  the  fissures  between 
the  stones  which  centuries  have  displaced  without  how- 
ever lessening  their  solidity.  The  door  of  the  house 
must  have  had  a  charming  character.  As  far  as  the 
relics  of  the  old  designs  allow  us  to  judge,  it  was  done 


12  Beatrix. 

by  an  artist  of  the  great  Venetian  school  of  the  thir- 
teenth century.  Here  is  a  mixture,  still  visible,  of 
the  Byzantine  and  the  Saracenic.  It  is  crowned  with 
a  circular  pediment,  now  wreathed  with  vegetation,  —  a 
bouquet,  rose,  brown,  yellow,  or  blue,  according  to  the 
season.  The  door,  of  oak,  nail-studded,  gives  entrance 
to  a  noble  hall,  at  the  end  of  which  is  another  door, 
opening  upon  another  portico  which  leads  to  the 
garden. 

This  hall  is  marvellously  well  preserved.  The  pan- 
elled wainscot,  about  three  feet  high,  is  of  chestnut.  A 
magnificent  Spanish  leather  with  figures  in  relief,  the 
gilding  now  peeled  off  or  reddened,  covers  the  walls. 
The  ceiling  is  of  wooden  boards  artistically  joined  and 
painted  and  gilded.  The  gold  is  scarcely  noticeable ; 
it  is  in  the  same  condition  as  that  of  the  Cordova 
leather,  but  a  few  red  flowers  and  the  green  foliage  can 
still  be  distinguished.  Perhaps  a  thorough  cleaning 
might  bring  out  paintings  like  those  discovered  on  the 
plank  ceilings  of  Tristan's  house  at  Tours.  If  so,  it 
would  prove  that  those  planks  were  placed  or  restored 
in  the  reign  of  Louis  XI.  The  chimney-piece  is  enor- 
mous, of  carved  stone,  and  within  it  are  gigantic  and- 
irons in  wrought-iron  of  precious  workmanship.  It 
could  hold  a  cart-load  of  wood.  The  furniture  of  this 
hall  is  wholly  of  oak,  each  article  bearing  upon  it 
the  arms  of  the  family.  Three  English  guns  equally 
suitable  for  chase  or  war,  three  sabres,  two  game-bags, 
the  utensils  of  a  huntsman  and  a  fisherman  hang  from 
nails  upon  the  wall. 

On  one  side  is  a  dining-room,  which  connects  with 
the  kitchen   by  a  door  cut  through   a   corner  tower. 


Beatrix.  '  13 

This  tower  corresponds  in  the  design  of  the  fagade 
toward  the  court-yard  with  another  tower  at  the  oppo- 
site corner,  in  which  is  a  spiral  staircase  leading  to  the 
two  upper  stories. 

The  dining-room  is  hung  with  tapestries  of  the 
fourteenth  century ;  the  style  and  the  orthography  of 
the  inscription  on  the  banderols  beneath  each  figure 
prove  their  age,  but  being,  as  they  are,  in  the  naive 
language  of  the  fabliaux^  it  is  impossible  to  transcribe 
them  here.  These  tapestries,  w^ell  preserved  in  those 
parts  where  light  has  scarcely  penetrated,  are  framed 
in  bands  of  oak  now  black  as  ebony.  The  ceiling  has 
projecting  rafters  enriched  with  foliage  which  is  varied 
for  each  rafter ;  the  space  between  them  is  filled  with 
planks  painted  blue,  on  which  twine  garlands  of  golden 
flowers.  Two  old  buffets  face  each  other;  on  their 
shelves,  rubbed  with  Breton  persistency  by  Mariotte 
the  cook,  can  be  seen,  as  in  the  days  when  kings  were 
as  poor  in  1200  as  the  du  Guaisnics  are  in  1830,  four 
old  goblets,  an  ancient  embossed  soup-tureen,  and  two 
salt-cellars,  all  of  silver ;  also  many  pewter  plates  and 
many  pitchers  of  gray  and  blue  pottery,  bearing  ara- 
besque designs  and  the  arms  of  the  da  Guaisnics, 
covered  by  hinged  pewter  lids.  The  chimney-piece  is 
modernized.  Its  condition  proves  that  the  family  has 
lived  in  this  room  for  the  last  century.  It  is  of  carved 
stone  in  the  style  of  the  Louis  XV.  period,  and  is  orna- 
mented with  a  mirror,  let  in  to  the  back  with  a  gilt 
beaded  moulding.  This  anachronism,  to  which  the 
family  is  indifferent,  would  grieve  a  poet.  On  the 
mantel-shelf,  covered  with  red  velvet,  is  a  tall  clock  of 
tortoise-shell  inlaid  with  brass,  flanked  on  each  side 


14  Beatrix, 

with  a  silver  candelabrum  of  singular  design.  A 
large  square  table,  with  solid  legs,  tills  the  centre  of 
this  room  ;  the  chairs  are  of  turned  wood  covered  with 
tapestry.  On  a  round  table  supported  by  a  single  leg 
made  in  the  shape  of  a  vine-shoot,  which  stands  before 
a  window  looking  into  the  garden,  is  a  lamp  of  an  odd 
kind.  This  lamp  has  a  common  glass  globe,  about  the 
size  of  an  ostrich  egg,  which  is  fastened  into  a  candle- 
stick by  a  glass  tube.  Through  a  hole  at  the  top  of 
the  globe  issues  a  wick  which  passes  through  a  sort  of 
reed  of  brass,  drawing  the  nut-oil  held  in  the  globe 
through  its  own  length  coiled  like,  a  tape-worm  in  a 
surgeon's  phial.  The  windows  which  look  into  the 
garden,  like  those  that  look  upon  the  court-yard,  are 
mullioned  in  stone  with  hexagonal  leaded  panes,  and 
are  draped  by  curtains,  with  heavy  valances  and 
stout  cords,  of  an  ancient  stuff  of  crimson  silk  with 
gold  reflections,  called  in  former  days  either  brocatelle 
or  small  brocade. 

On  each  of  the  two  upper  stories  of  the  house  there 
are  but  two  rooms.  The  first  is  the  bedroom  of  the 
head  of  the  family,  the  second  is  that  of  the  children. 
Guests  were  lodged  in  chambers  beneath  the  roof. 
The  servants  slept  above  the  kitchens  and  stables. 
The  pointed  roof,  protected  with  lead  at  its  angles  and 
edges,  has  a  noble  pointed  window  on  each  side,  one 
looking  down  upon  the  court-yard,  the  other  on  the 
garden.  These  windows,  rising  almost  to  the  level  of  the 
roof,  have  slender,  delicate  casings, the  carvings  of  which 
have  crumbled  under  the  salty  vapors  of  the  atmosphere. 
Above  the  arch  of  each  window  with  its  crossbars  of 
stone,  still  grinds,  as  it  turns,  the  vane  of  a  noble. 


Beatrix,  15 

Let  us  not  forget  a  precious  detail,  full  of  na'ivetd, 
whicli  will  be  of  value  in  the  eyes  of  an  archaeologist. 
The  tower  in  which  tlie  spiral  staircase  goes  up  is  placed 
at  the  corner  of  a  great  gable  wall  in  which  there  is  no 
window.  The  staircase  comes  down  to  a  little  arched 
door,  opening  upon  a  gravelled  yard  which  separates 
the  house  from  the  stables.  This  tower  is  repeated  on 
the  garden  side  by  another  of  five  sides,  ending  in  a 
cupola  in  which  is  a  bell-turret,  instead  of  being 
roofed,  like  the  sister- tower,  with  a  pepper-pot.  This 
is  how  those  charming  architects  varied  the  symmetry 
of  their  sky-lines.  These  towers  are  connected  on 
the  level  of  the  first  upper  floor  by  a  stone  gallery, 
supported  by  what  we  must  call  brackets,  each  ending 
in  a  grotesque  human  head.  This  gallery  has  a  balus- 
trade of  exquisite  workmanship.  From  the  gable 
above  depends  a  stone  dais  like  those  that  crown  the 
statues  of  saints  at  the  portal  of  churches.  Can  you 
not  see  a  woman  walking  in  the  morning  along  this 
balcony  and  gazing  over  Guerande  at  the  sunshine, 
wliere  it  gilds  the  sands  and  shimmers  on  the  breast  of 
Ocean?  Do  you  not  admire  that  gable  wall  flanked 
at  its  angles  with  those  varied  towers  ?  The  opposite 
gable  of  the  Guaisnic  mansion  adjoins  the  next  house. 
The  harmony  so  carefully  sought  by  the  architects  of 
those  days  is  maintained  in  the  faqade  looking  on  the 
court-yard  by  the  tower  which  communicates  between 
the  dining-room  and  the  kitchen,  and  is  the  same  as 
the  staircase  tower,  except  that  it  stops  at  the  first  upper 
story  and  its  summit  is  a  small  open  dome,  beneath  which 
stands  a  now  blackened  statue  of  Saint  Calyste. 

The  garden  is  magnificent  for  so  old  a  place.     It 


16  Beatrix* 

covers  half  an  acre  of  ground,  its  walls  are  all  espa- 
liered,  and  the  space  within  is  divided  into  squares 
for  vegetables,  bordered  with  cordons  of  fruit-trees, 
which  the  man-of-all-work,  named  Gasselin,  takes  care 
of  in  the  intervals  of  grooming  the  horses.  At  the 
farther  end  of  the  garden  is  a  grotto  with  a  seat  in  it ;  in 
the  middle,  a  sun-dial ;  the  paths  are  gravelled.  The 
fagade  on  the  garden  side  has  no  towers  corresponding 
to  those  on  the  court-yard ;  but  a  slender  spiral  column 
rises  from  the  ground  to  the  roof,  which  must  in  former 
days  have  borne  the  banner  of  the  family,  for  at  its 
summit  may  still  be  seen  an  iron  socket,  from  which  a 
few  weak  plants  are  straggling.  This  detail,  in  har- 
mony with  the  vestiges  of  sculpture,  proves  to  a  prac- 
tised eye  that  the  mansion  was  built  by  a  Venetian 
architect.  The  graceful  staff  is  like  a  signature  re- 
vealing Venice,  chivalry,  and  the  exquisite  delicacy  of 
the  thirteenth  century.  If  any  doubts  remained  on  this 
point,  a  feature  of  the  ornamentation  would  di:;'sipate 
them.  The  trefoils  of  the  hotel  du  Guaisnic  have  four 
leaves  instead  of  three.  This  difference  plainly  indi- 
cates the  Venetian  school  depraved  by  its  commerce 
with  the  East,  where  the  semi-Saracenic  architects, 
careless  of  the  great  catholic  thought,  give  four  leaves 
to  clover,  while  Christian  art  is  faithful  to  the  Trinity. 
In  this  respect  Venetian  art  became  heretical. 

If  this  ancient  dwelling  attracts  your  imagination, 
you  may  perhaps  ask  yourself  why  such  miracles  of  art 
are  not  renewed  in  the  present  day.  Because  to-day 
mansions  are  sold,  pulled  down,  and  the  ground  they 
stood  on  turned  into  streets.  No  one  can  be  sure  that 
4;he  next  generation  will  possess  the  paternal  dwelling ; 


Beatrix,  17 

homes  are  no  more  than  inns ;  whereas  in  former  times 
when  a  dwelling  was  built  men  worked,  or  thought 
they  worked,  for  a  family  in  perpetuity.  Hence  the 
grandeur  of  these  houses.  Faith  in  self,  as  well  as 
faitii  in  God,  did  prodigies. 

As  for  the  arrangement  of  the  upper  rooms  they 
may  be  imagined  after  this  description  of  the  ground- 
floor,  and  after  reading  an  account  of  the  manners,  cus- 
toms, and  physiognomy  of  the  family.  For  the  last 
fifty  years  the  du  Guainics  have  received  their  friends 
in  the  two  rooms  just  described,  in  which,  as  in  the 
court-yard  and  the  external  accessories  of  the  building, 
the  spirit,  grace,  and  candor  of  the  old  and  noble  Brit- 
tany still  survives.  Without  the  topography  and  de- 
scription of  the  town,  and  without  this  minute  depicting 
of  the  house,  the  surprising  figures  of  the  family  might 
be  less  understood.  Therefore  the  frames  have  preceded 
the  portraits.  Every  one  is  aware  that  things  influence 
beings.  There  are  public  buildings  whose  effect  is 
visible  upon  the  persons  living  in  their  neighborhood. 
It  would  be  difficult  indeed  to  be  irreligious  in  the 
shadow  of  a  cathedral  like  that  of  Bourges.  When 
the  soul  is  everywhere  reminded  of  its  destiny  by  sur-' 
rounding  images,  it  is  less  easy  to  fail  of  it.  Such 
was  the  thought  of  our  immediate  grandfathers,  aban- 
doned by  a  generation  which  was  soon  to  have  no 
signs  and  no  distinctions,  and  whose  manners  and 
morals  were  to  change  every  decade.  If  you  do  not 
now  expect  to  find  the  Baron  du  Guaisnic  sword  in 
hand,  all  here  written  would  be  falsehood. 

2 


18  Beatrix, 


11. 

THE   BARON,    HIS    WIFE,    AND    SISTER. 

Early  in  the  month  of  May,  in  the  year  1836,  the 
period  when  this  scene  opens,  the  family  of  Guenic 
(we  follow  henceforth  the  modern  spelling)  consisted  of 
Monsieur  and  Madame  du  Guenic,  Mademoiselle  du 
Guenic  the  baron's  elder  sister,  and  an  only  son,  aged 
twenty-one,  named,  after  an  ancient  family  usage, 
Gaudebert-Calyste-Louis.  The  father's  name  was 
Gaudebert-Calyste-Charles.  Only  the  last  name  was 
ever  varied.  Saint  Gaudebert  and  Saint  Calyste  were 
forever  bound  to  protect  the  Guenics. 

The  Baron  du  Guenic  had  started  from  Guerande 
the  moment  that  La  Vendee  and  Brittany  took  arms ; 
he  fought  through  the  war  with  Charette,  with  Cathe- 
lineau.  La  Rochejaquelein,  d'Elbee,  Bonchamps,  and 
the  Prince  de  Loudon.  Before  starting  he  had,  with 
a  prudence  unique  in  revolutionary  annals,  sold  his 
whole  property  of  every  kind  to  his  elder  and  only 
sister.  Mademoiselle  Zephirine  du  Guenic.  After  the 
death  of  all  those  heroes  of  the  West,  the  baron,  pre- 
served by  a  miracle  from  ending  as  they  did,  refused 
to  submit  to  Napoleon.  He  fought  on  till  1802,  when 
being  at  last  defeated  and  almost  captured,  he  returned 
to  Guerande,  and  from  Guerande  went  to  Croisic, 
whence  he  crossed  to  Ireland,  faithful  to  the  ancient 
Breton  hatred  for  England. 


Beatrix,  19 

The  people  of  Gudrande  feigned  utter  ignorance  of 
the  baron's  existence.  In  tlie  whole  course  of  twenty 
years  not  a  single  indiscreet  word  was  ever  uttered. 
Mademoiselle  du  Guenic  received  the  rents  and  sent 
them  to  her  brother  by  fishermen.  Monsieur  du 
Guenic  returned  to  Guerande  in  1813,  as  quietly  and 
simply  as  if  he  had  merely  passed  a  season  at  Nantes. 
During  his  stay  in  Dublin  the  old  Breton,  despite  his 
fifty  years,  had  fallen  in  love  with  a  charming  Irish 
woman,  daughter  of  one  of  the  noblest  and  poorest 
families  of  that  unhappy  kingdom.  Fanny  O'Brien 
was  then  twenty-one  years  old.  The  Baron  du  Guenic 
came  over  to  France  to  obtain  the  documents  necessary 
for  his  marriage,  returned  to  Ireland,  and,  after  about 
ten  months  (at  the  beginning  of  1814),  brought  his 
wife  to  Guerande,  where  she  gave  him  Calyste  on  the 
very  day  that  Louis  XVIII.  landed  at  Calais,  —  a  cir- 
cumstance which  explains  the  young  man's  final  name 
of  Louis. 

The  old  and  loyal  Breton  was  now  a  man  of  seventy- 
three  ;  but  his  long-continued  guerilla  warfare  with 
the  Republic,  his  exile,  the  perils  of  his  five  crossings 
through  a  turbulent  sea  in  open  boats,  had  weighed 
upon  his  head,  and  he  looked  a  hundred  ;  therefore,  at 
no  period  had  the  chief  of  the  house  of  Guenic  been 
more  in  keeping  with  the  worn-out  grandeur  of  their 
dwelling,  built  in  the  days  when  a  court  reigned  at 
Guerande. 

Monsieur  de  Guenic  was  a  tall,  straight,  wiry,  lean 
old  man.  His  oval  face  was  lined  with  innumerable 
wrinkles,  which  formed  a  net-work  over  his  cheek-bones 
and  above  his  eyebrows,  giving  to  his  face  a  resem- 


20  Beatrix. 

blance  to  those  choice  old  men  whom  Van  Ostade, 
Rembrandt,  Mieris,  and  Gerard  Dow  so  loved  to  paint, 
in  pictures  which  need  a  microscope  to  be  fully  appre- 
ciated. His  countenance  might  be  said  to  be  sunken 
out  of  sight  beneath  those  innumerable  wrinkles,  pro- 
duced by  a  life  in  the  open  air  and  by  the  habit  of 
watching  the  country  in  the  full  light  of  the  sun  from 
the  rising  of  that  luminary  to  the  sinking  of  it.  Never- 
theless, to  an  observer  enough  remained  of  the  im- 
perishable forms  of  the  human  face  which  appealed  to 
the  soul,  even  though  the  eye  could  see  no  more  than 
a  lifeless  head.  The  firm  outline  of  the  face,  the  shape 
of  the  brow,  the  solemnity  of  the  lines,  the  rigidity  of 
the  nose,  the  form  of  the  bony  structure  which  wounds 
alone  had  slightly  altered,  —  all  were  signs  of  intre- 
pidity without  calculation,  faith  without  reserve,  obedi- 
ence without  discussion,  fidelity  without  compromise, 
love  without  inconstancy.  In  him,  the  Breton  granite 
was  made  man. 

The  baron  had  no  longer  any  teeth.  His  lips,  once 
red,  now  violet,  and  backed  by  hard  gums  only  (with 
which  he  ate  the  bread  his  wife  took  care  to  soften  by 
folding  it  daily  in  a  damp  napkin),  drew  inward  to  the 
mouth  with  a  sort  of  grin,  which  gave  him  an  expres- 
sion both  threatening  and  proud.  His  chin  seemed  to 
seek  his  nose  ;  but  in  that  nose,  humped  in  the  middle, 
lay  the  signs  of  his  energy  and  his  Breton  resistance. 
His  skin,  marbled  with  red  blotches  appearing  through 
his  wrinkles,  showed  a  powerfully  sanguine  tempera- 
ment, fitted  to  resist  fatigue  and  to  preserve  him,  as  no 
doubt  it  did,  from  apoplexy.  The  head  was  crowned 
with  abundant  hair,  as  white  as  silver,  which  fell  in 


BSatrix.  21 

curls  upon  his  shoulders.  The  face,  extinguished,  as 
we  have  said,  in  part,  lived  through  the  glitter  of  the 
black  eyes  in  their  brown  orbits,  casting  thence  the  last 
flames  of  a  generous  and  loyal  soul.  The  eyebrows 
and  lashes  had  disappeared ;  the  skin,  grown  hard, 
could  not  unwrinkle.  The  difficulty  of  shaving  had 
obliged  the  old  man  to  let  his  beard  grow,  and  the  cut 
of  it  was  fan-shaped.  An  artist  would  have  admired 
beyond  all  else  in  this  old  lion  of  Brittany  with  his 
powerful  shoulders  and  vigorous  chest,  the  splendid 
hands  of  the  soldier,  —  hands  like  those  du  Guesclin 
must  have  had,  large,  broad,  hairy ;  hands  that  once 
had  clasped  the  sword  never,  like  Joan  of  Arc,  to  relin- 
quish it  until  the  royal  standard  floated  in  the  cathe- 
dral of  Rheims ;  hands  that  were  often  bloody  from 
the  thorns  and  furze  of  the  Socage ;  hands  which  had 
pulled  an  oar  in  the  Marais  to  surprise  the  Blues,  or  in 
the  offing  to  signal  Georges ;  the  hands  of  a  gue- 
rilla, a  cannoneer,  a  common  soldier,  a  leader ;  hands 
still  white  though  the  Bourbons  of  the  Elder  branch 
were  again  in  exile.  Looking  at  those  hands  atten- 
tively, one  might  have  seen  some  recent  marks  attest- 
ing the  fact  that  the  Baron  had  recently  joined 
Madame  in  La  Vend^^e.  To-day  that  fact  may  be 
admitted.  These  hands  were  a  living  commentary  on 
the  noble  motto  to  which  no  Guenic  had  proved 
recreant:  Fad 

Ilis  forehead  attracted  attention  by  the  golden  tones 
of  the  temples,  contrasting  with  the  brown  tints  of  the 
hard  and  narrow  brow,  which  the  falling  off  of  the  hair 
had  somewhat  broadened,  giving  still  more  majesty  to 
that  noble  ruin.     The  countenance  —  a  little  material, 


22  Beatrix. 

perhaps,  but  how  could  it  be  otherwise? — presented, 
like  all  the  Breton  faces  grouped  about  the  baron,  a 
certain  savagery,  a  stolid  calm  which  resembled  the 
impassibility  of  the  Huguenots ;  something,  one  might 
say,  stupid,  due  perhaps  to  the  utter  repose  which  fol- 
lows extreme  fatigue,  in  which  the  animal  nature  alone 
is  visible.  Thought  was  rare.  It  seemed  to  be  an 
effort ;  its  seat  was  in  the  heart  more  than  in  the  head ; 
it  led  to  acts  rather  than  ideas.  But,  examining  that 
grand  old  man  with  sustained  observation,  one  could 
penetrate  the  mystery  of  this  strange  contradiction  to 
the  spirit  of  the  century.  He  had  faiths,  sentiments, 
inborn  so  to  speak,  which  allowed  him  to  dispense 
with  thought.  His  duty,  life  had  taught  him.  Institu- 
tions and  religion  thought  for  him.  He  reserved  his 
mind,  he  and  his  kind,  for  action,  not  dissipating  it  on 
useless  things  which  occupied  the  minds  of  other  per- 
sons. He  drew  his  thought  from  his  heart  like  his 
sword  from  its  scabbard,  holding  it  aloft  in  his  ermined 
hand,  as  on  his  scutcheon,  shining  with  sincerity. 
That  secret  once  penetrated,  all  is  clear.  We  can 
comprehend  the  depth  of  convictions  that  are  not 
thoughts,  but  living  principles,  —  clear,  distinct,  down- 
right, and  as  immaculate  as  the  ermine  itself.  We 
understand  that  sale  made  to  his  sister  before  the  war ; 
which  provided  for  all,  and  faced  all,  death,  confisca- 
tion, exile.  The  beauty  of  the  character  of  these  two 
old  people  (for  the  sister  lived  only  for  and  by  the 
brother)  cannot  be  understood  to  its  full  extent  by  the 
light  of  the  selfish  morals,  the  uncertain  aims,  and  the 
inconstancy  of  this  our  epoch.  An  archangel,  charged 
with  the  duty  of  penetrating  to  the  inmost  recesses  of 


Biatrix.  23 

their  hearts  could  not  have  found  one  thought  of  per- 
sonal interest.  In  1814,  when  the  rector  of  Guerande 
suggested  to  the  baron  that  he  should  go  to  Paris  and 
claim  his  recompense  from  the  triumphant  Bourbons, 
the  old  sister,  so  saving  and  miserly  for  the  household, 
cried  out :  — 

'*  Oh,  fy !  does  my  brother  need  to  hold  out  his  hand 
like  a  beggar?  " 

' '  It  would  be  thought  I  served  the  king  from  inter- 
est," said  the  old  man.  ''Besides,  it  is  for  him  to 
remember.  Poor  king !  he  must  be  weary  indeed  of 
those  who  harass  him.  If  he  gave  them  all  France  in 
bits,  they  still  would  ask." 

This  loyal  servant,  who  had  spent  his  life  and  means 
on  Louis  XVIII.,  received  the  rank  of  colonel,  the 
cross  of  Saint-Louis,  and  a  stipend  of  two  thousand 
francs  a  year. 

''  The  king  did  remember!  "  he  said  when  the  news 
reached  him. 

No  one  undeceived  him.  The  gift  was  really  made 
by  the  Due  de  Feltre.  But,  as  an  act  of  gratitude  to 
the  king,  the  baron  sustained  a  siege  at  Guerande 
against  the  forces  of  General  Travot.  He  refused  to 
surrender  the  fortress,  and  when  it  was  absolutely 
necessary  to  evacuate  it  he  escaped  into  the  woods 
with  a  band  of  Chouans,  who  continued  armed  until  the 
second  restoration  of  the  Bourbons.  Guerande  still 
treasures  the  memory  of  that  siege. 

We  must  admit  that  the  Baron  du  Guenic  was  illit- 
erate as  a  peasant.  He  could  read,  write,  and  do  some 
little  ciphering ;  he  knew  the  military  art  and  heraldry, 
but,  excepting  always  his  prayer-book,  he  had  not  read 


24  Beatrix. 

three  volumes  in  the  course  of  his  life.  His  cloihing, 
which  is  not  an  insignificant  point,  was  invariably  the 
same ;  it  consisted  of  stout  shoes,  ribbed  stockings, 
breeches  of  greenish  velveteen,  a  cloth  waistcoat,  and  a 
loose  coat  with  a  collar,  from  which  hung  the  cross  of 
Saint-Louis.  A  noble  serenity  now  reigned  upon  that 
face  where,  for  the  last  year  or  so,  sleep,  the  forerunner 
of  death,  seemed  to  be  preparing  him  for  rest  eternal. 
This  constant  somnolence,  becoming  daily  more  and 
more  frequent,  did  not  alarm  either  his  wife,  his  blind 
sister,  or  his  friends,  whose  medical  knowledge  was  of 
the  slightest.  To  them  these  solemn  pauses  of  a  life 
without  reproach,  but  very  weary,  were  naturally  ex- 
plained :  the  baron  had  done  his  duty,  that  was  all. 

In  this  ancient  mansion  the  absorbing  interests  were 
the  fortunes  of  the  dispossessed  Elder  branch.  The 
future  of  the  exiled  Bourbons,  that  of  the  Catholic 
religion,  the  influence  of  political  innovations  on 
Brittany  were  the  exclusive  topics  of  conversation  in 
the  baron's  family.  There  was  but  one  personal  inter- 
est mingled  with  these  most  absorbing  ones ;  the  at- 
tachment of  all  for  the  only  son,  for  Calyste,  the  heir, 
the  sole  hope  of  the  great  name  of  the  du  Guenics. 

The  old  Vendean,  the  old  Chouan,  had,  some  years 
previously,  a  return  of  his  own  youth  in  order  to  train 
his  son  to  those  manly  exercises  which  were  proper  for 
a  gentleman  liable  to  be  summoned  at  any  moment  to 
take  arms.  No  sooner  was  Calyste  sixteen  years  of 
age  than  his  father  accompanied  him  to  the  marshes 
and  the  forest,  teaching  him  through  the  pleasures  of 
the  chase  the  rudiments  of  war,  preaching  by  example, 
indifferent  to  fatigue,  firm  in  his  saddle,  sure  of  his 


BSatrix.  25 

shot  whatever  the  game  might  be, — deer,  hare,  or  a 
bird  on  tlie  wing,  — intrepid  in  face  of  obstacles,  bidding 
his  son  follow  him  into  danger  as  though  he  had  ten 
other  sons  to  take  Calyste's  place. 

So,  when  the  Duchesse  de  Berry  landed  in  France  to 
conquer  back  the  kingdom  for  her  son,  the  father 
judged  it  right  to  take  his  boy  to  join  her,  and  put  in 
practice  the  motto  of  their  ancestors.  The  baron 
started  in  the  dead  of  night,  saying  no  word  to  his 
wife,  who  might  perhaps  have  weakened  him ;  taking 
his  son  under  fire  as  if  to  a  fete,  and  Gasselin,  his  only 
vassal,  who  followed  him  joyfully.  The  three  men  of 
the  family  were  absent  six  months  without  sending 
news  of  their  whereabouts  to  the  baroness,  who  never 
read  the  '' Quotidienne  "  without  trembling  from  line 
to  line,  nor  to  his  old  blind  sister,  heroically  erect, 
whose  nerve  never  faltered  for  an  instant  as  she  heard 
that  paper  read.  The  three  guns  hanging  to  the  walls 
had  therefore  seen  service  recently.  The  baron,  who 
considered  the  enterprise  useless,  left  the  region  before 
the  affair  of  La  Penissi^re,  or  the  house  of  Guenic 
would  probably  have  ended  in  that  hecatomb. 

When,  on  a  stormy  night  after  parting  from  Madame, 
the  father,  son,  and  servant  returned  to  the  house  in 
Gue'rande,  they  took  their  friends  and  the  baroness 
and  old  Mademoiselle  de  Guenic  by  surprise,  although 
tlie  latter,  by  the  exercise  of  senses  with  which  the 
blind  are  gifted,  recognized  the  steps  of  the  three  men 
in  the  little  lane  leading  to  the  house.  The  baron 
looked  round  upon  the  circle  of  his  anxious  friends, 
who  were  seated  beside  the  little  table  lighted  by  the 
antique  lamp,  and  said  in  a   tremulous   voice,  while 


26  BeaU 


IX. 


Gasselin   replaced  the  three  guns  and   the  sabres  in 
their  places,  these  words  of  feudal  simplicity :  — 

''  The  barons  did  not  all  do  their  duty." 

Then,  having  kissed  his  wife  and  sister,  he  sat  down 
in  his  old  arm-chair  and  ordered  supper  to  be  brought  for 
his  son,  for  Gasselin,  and  for  himself.  Gasselin  had 
thrown  himself  before  Calyste  on  one  occasion,  to  pro- 
tect him,  and  received  the  cut  of  a  sabre  on  his 
shoulder ;  but  so  simple  a  matter  did  it  seem  that  even 
the  women  scarcely  thanked  him.  The  baron  and  his 
guests  uttered  neither  curses  nor  complaints  of  their 
conquerors.  Such  silence  is  a  trait  of  Breton  charac- 
ter. In  forty  years  no  one  ever  heard  a  word  of  con- 
tumely from  the  baron's  lips  about  his  adversaries.  It 
was  for  them  to  do  their  duty  as  he  did  his.  This 
utter  silence  is  the  surest  indication  of  an  unalterable 
will. 

This  last  effort,  the  flash  of  an  energy  now  waning, 
had  caused  the  present  weakness  and  somnolence  of 
the  old  man.  The  fresh  defeat  and  exile  of  the  Bour- 
bons, as  miraculously  driven  out  as  miraculously  re- 
established, were  to  him  a  source  of  bitter  sadness. 

About  six  o'clock  in  the  evening  of  the  day  on 
which  this  history  begins,  the  baron,  who,  according  to 
ancient  custom,  had  finished  dining  by  four  o'clock, 
fell  asleep  as  usual  while  his  wife  was  reading  to  him 
the  "  Quotidienne."  His  head  rested  against  the  back 
of  the  arm-chair  which  stood  beside  the  fireplace  on  the 
garden  side.  '  | 

Near  this  gnarled  trunk  of  an  ancient  tree,  and  in  * 
front  of  the  fireplace,  the  baroness,  seated  on  one  of 
the  antique  chairs,  presented  the  type  of  those  adorable 


Beatrix.  27 

women  who  exist  in  P^ngland,  Scotland,  or  Ireland 
only.  There  alone  are  born  those  milk-white  creatures 
with  golden  hair  the  curls  of  which  are  wound  by  the 
hands  of  angels,  for  the  light  of  heaven  seems  to  rip- 
ple in  their  silken  spirals  swaying  to  the  breeze. 
Fanny  O'Brien  was  one  of  those  sylphs,  —  strong  in 
tenderness,  invincible  under  misfortune,  soft  as  the 
music  of  her  voice,  pure  as  the  azure  of  her  eyes,  of  a 
delicate,  refined  beauty,  blessed  with  a  skin  that  was 
silken  to  the  touch  and  caressing  to  the  eye,  which 
neither  painter's  brush  nor  written  word  can  picture. 
Beautiful  still  at  forty-two  years  of  age,  many  a  man 
would  have  thought  it  happiness  to  marry  her  as  he 
looked  at  the  splendors  of  that  autumn  coloring,  redun- 
dant in  flowers  and  fruit,  refreshed  and  refreshing  with 
the  dews  of  heaven. 

The  baroness  held  the  paper  in  a  dimpled  hand,  the 
fingers  of  which  curved  slightly  backward,  their  nails 
cut  square  like  those  of  an  antique  statue.  Half 
lying,  without  ill-grace  or  affectation,  in  her  chair,  her 
feet  stretched  out  to  warm  them,  she  was  dressed  in  a 
gown  of  black  velvet,  for  the  weather  was  now  becom- 
ing chilly.  The  corsage,  rising  to  the  throat,  moulded 
the  splendid  contour  of  the  shoulders  and  the  rich 
bosom  which  the  suckling  of  her  son  had  not  deformed. 
Her  hair  was  worn  in  ringlets^  after  the  English 
fashion,  down  her  cheeks  ;  the  rest  was  simply  twisted 
to  the  crown  of  her  head  and  lield  there  with  a  tortoise- 
shell  comb.  The  color,  not  undecided  in  tone  as  other 
blond  hair,  sparkled  to  the  light  like  a  filagree  of  bur- 
nished gold.  The  baroness  always  braided  the  short 
locks  curling  on  the  nape  of  her  neck  —  which  are  a 


28  Beatrix. 

sign  of  race.  This  tiny  braid,  concealed  in  the  mass  of 
hair  always  carefully  put  up,  allowed  the  eye  to  follow 
with  delight  the  undulating  line  by  which  her  neck  was 
set  upon  her  shoulders.  This  little  detail  will  show  the 
care  which  she  gave  to  her  person;  it  was  her  pride 
to  rejoice  the  eyes  of  the  old  baron.  What  a  charming, 
delicate  attention  !  When  you  see  a  woman  display- 
ing in  her  own  home  the  coquetry  which  most  women 
spend  on  a  single  sentiment,  believe  me,  that  woman  is 
as  noble  a  mother  as  she  is  a  wife ;  she  is  the  joy  and 
the  flower  of  the  home ;  she  knows  her  obligations  as 
a  woman ;  in  her  soul,  in  her  tenderness,  you  will  find 
her  outward  graces ;  she  is  doing  good  in  secret ;  she 
worships,  she  adores  without  a  calculation  of  return ; 
she  loves  her  fellows,  as  she  loves  God, — for  their, 
own  sakes.  And  so  one  might  fancy  that  the  Virgin  of 
paradise,  under  whose  care  she  lived,  had  rewarded 
the  chaste  girlhood  and  the  sacred  life  of  the  old  man*s 
wife  by  surrounding  her  with  a  sort  of  halo  which  pre- 
served her  beauty  from  the  wrongs  of  time.  The 
alterations  of  that  beauty  Plato  would  have  glorified  as 
the  coming  of  new  graces.  Her  skin,  so  milk-white 
once,  had  taken  the  warm  and  pearly  tones  which 
painters  adore.  Her  broad  and  finely  modelled  brow 
caught  lovingly  the  light  which  played  on  its  polished 
surface.  Her  eyes,  of  a  turquoise  blue,  shone  with 
unequalled  sweetness ;  the  soft  lashes,  and  the  slightly 
sunken  temples  inspired  the  spectator  with  I  know  not 
what  mute  melancholy.  The  nose,  which  was  aquiline 
and  thin,  recalled  the  royal  origin  of  the  high-born 
woman.  The  pure  lips,  finely  cut,  wore  happy  smiles, 
brought  there  by  loving-kindness  inexhaustible.     Her 


BSatrix,  29 

teeth  were  small  and  white ;  she  had  gained  of  late  a 
slight  embonpoint,  but  her  delicate  hips  and  slender 
waist  were  none  the  worse  for  it.  The  autumn  of  her 
beauty  presented  a  few  perennial  flowers  of  her  spring- 
tide among  the  richer  blooms  of  summer.  Her  arms  be- 
came more  nobly  rounded,  her  lustrous  skin  took  a  finer 
grain ;  the  outlines  of  her  form  gained  plenitude.  Lastly 
and  best  of  all,  her  open  countenance,  serene  and  slightly 
rosy,  the  purity  of  her  blue  eyes,  that  a  look  too  eager 
might  have  wounded,  expressed  illimitable  sympathy, 
the  tenderness  of  angels. 

At  the  other  chimney-corner,  in  an  arm-chair,  the 
octogenarian  sister,  like  in  all  points  save  clothes  to  her 
brother,  sat  listening  to  the  reading  of  the  newspaper 
and  knitting  stockings,  a  work  for  which  sight  is 
-needless.  Both  eyes  had  cataracts ;  but  she  obsti- 
nately refused  to  submit  to  an  operation,  in  spite  of  the 
entreaties  of  her  sister-in-law.  The  secret  reason  of 
that  obstinacy  was  known  to  herself  only ;  she  de- 
clared it  was  want  of  courage ;  but  the  truth  was  that 
she  would  not  let  her  brother  spend  twenty-five  louis 
for  her  benefit.  That  sum  would  have  been  so  much 
the  less  for  the  good  of  the  household. 

These  two  old  persons  brought  out  in  fine  relief  the 
beauty  of  the  baroness.  Mademoiselle  Zephirine,  be- 
ing deprived  of  sight,  was  not  aware  of  the  changes 
which  eighty  years  had  wrought  in  her  features.  Her 
pale,  hollow  face,  to  which  the  fixedness  of  the  white 
and  sightless  eyes  gave  almost  the  appearance  of 
death,  and  three  or  four  solitary  and  projecting  teeth 
made  menacing,  was  framed  by  a  little  hood  of  brown 
printed  cotton,  quilted  like  a  petticoat,  trimmed  with  a 


30  Beatrix. 

cotton  ruche,  and  tied  beneath  the  chin  by  strings  which 
were  always  a  little  rusty.  She  wore  a  cotillon^  or 
short  skirt  of  coarse  cloth,  over  a  quilted  petticoat 
(a  positive  mattress,  in  which  were  secreted  double 
louis-d'ors),  and  pockets  sewn  to  a  belt  which  she  un- 
fastened every  night  and  put  on  every  morning  like  a 
garment.  Her  body  was  encased  in  the  casaquiii  of 
Brittany,  a  species  of  spencer  made  of  the  same  cloth 
as  the  cotillon^  adorned  with  a  collarette  of  many 
pleats,  the  washing  of  which  caused  the  only  dispute 
she  ever  had  with  her  sister-in-law,  —  her  habit  being  to 
change  it  only  once  a  week.  From  the  large  wadded 
sleeves  of  the  casaquin  issued  two  withered  but  still 
vigorous  arms,  at  the  ends  of  which  flourished  her 
hands,  their  brownish-red  color  making  the  white 
arms  look  like  poplar-wood.  These  hands,  hooked  or 
contracted  from  the  habit  of  knitting,  might  be  called  a 
stocking-machine  incessantly  at  work  ;  the  phenomenon 
would  have  been  had  they  stopped.  From  time  to 
time  Mademoiselle  du  Guenic  took  a  long  knitting- 
needle  which  she  kept  in  the  bosom  of  her  gown,  and 
passed  it  between  her  hood  and  her  hair  to  poke  or 
scratch  her  white  locks.  A  stranger  would  have 
laughed  to  see  the  careless  manner  in  which  she  thrust 
back  the  needle  without  the  slightest  fear  of  wounding 
herself.  She  was  straight  as  a  steeple.  Her  erect 
and  imposing  carriage  might  pass  for  one  of  those 
coquetries  of  old  age  which  prove  that  pride  is  a  neces- 
sary passion  of  life.  Her  smile  was  gay.  She,  too, 
had  done  her  duty. 

As  soon  as  the  baroness  saw  that  her  husband  was 
asleep   she   stopped     reading.     A    ray    of    sunshine. 


BSatrix.  81 

stretcliing  from  one  window  to  the  other,  divided  by  a 
Ijfoklen  band  the  atniospliere  of  that  old  room  and  bur- 
nished the  now  black  furniture.  The  light  touched  the 
carvings  of  the  ceiling,  danced  on  the  time-worn 
chests,  spread  its  shining  cloth  on  the  old  oak  table, 
enlivening  the  still,  brown  room,  as  Fanny's  voice  cast 
into  the  heart  of  her  octogenarian  blind  sister  a  music 
Ik  as  luminous  and  as  cheerful  as  that  ray  of  sunlight. 
P  Soon  the  ray  took  on  the  ruddy  colors  which,  by  in- 
P  sensible  gradations,  sank  into  the  melancholy  tones  of 
twilight.  The  baroness  also  sank  into  a  deep  medita- 
tion, one  of  those  total  silences  which  her  sister-in-law 
had  noticed  for  the  last  two  weeks,  trying  to  explain 
them  to  herself,  but  making  no  inquiry.  The  old  woman 
studied  the  causes  of  this  unusual  pre-occupation,  as 
blind  persons,  in  whose  soul  sound  lingers  like  a  divin- 
ing echo,  read  books  in  which  the  pages  are  black  and 
the  letters  white.  Mademoiselle  Zephirine,  to  whom 
the  dark  hour  now  meant  nothing,  continued  to  knit, 
and  the  silence  at  last  became  so  deep  that  the  clicking 
of  her  knitting-needles  was  plainly  heard. 

"  You  have  dropped  the  paper,  sister,  but  you  are 
not  asleep,"  said  the  old  woman,  slyly. 

At  this  moment  Mariotte  came  in  to  light  the  lamp, 
wliich  she  placed  on  a  square  table  in  front  of  the  fire ; 
then  she  fetched  her  distaff,  her  ball  of  thread,  and  a 
small  stool,  on  which  she  seated  herself  in  the  recess  of 
a  window  and  began  as  usual  to  spin.  Gasselin  was 
still  busy  about  the  offices ;  he  looked  to  the  horses 
of  the  baron  and  Calyste,  saw  that  the  stable  was  in 
order  for  the  night,  and  gave  the  two  fine  hunting- 
dogs   their  daily  meal.      The  joyful  barking   of   the 


32  Beatrix. 

animals  was  the  last  noise  that  awakened  the  echoes 
slumbering  among  the  darksome  walls  of  the  ancient 
house.  The  two  dogs  and  the  two  horses  were  the 
only  remaining  vestiges  of  the  splendors  of  its  chivalry. 
An  imaginative  man  seated  on  the  steps  of  the  portico 
and  letting  himself  fall  into  the  poesy  of  the  still 
living  images  of  that  dwelling,  might  have  quivered  as 
he  heard  the  baying  of  the  hounds  and  the  trampling 
of  the  neighing  horses. 

Gasselin  was  one  of  those  short,  thick,  squat  little 
Bretons,  with  black  hair  and  sun-browned  faces,  silent, 
slow,  and  obstinate  as  mules,  but  always  following 
steadily  the  path  marked  out  for  them.  He  was  forty- 
two  years  old,  and  had  been  twenty-five  years  in  the 
household.  Mademoiselle  had  hired  him  when  he  was 
fifteen,  on  hearing  of  the  marriage  and  probable  return 
of  the  baron.  This  retainer  considered  himself  as 
part  of  the  family;  he  had  played  with  Calyste,  he 
loved  the  horses  and  dogs  of  the  house,  and  talked  to 
them  and  petted  them  as  though  they  were  his  own. 
He  wore  a  blue  linen  jacket  with  little  pockets  flapping 
about  his  hips,  waistcoat  and  trousers  of  the  same 
material  at  all  seasons,  blue  stockings,  and  stout  hob- 
nailed shoes.  When  it  was  cold  or  rainy  he  put  on 
a  goat's-skin,  after  the  fashion  of  his  country. 

Mario tte,  who  was  also  over  forty,  was  as  a  woman 
what  Gasselin  was  as  a  man.  No  team  could  be  bet- 
ter matched,  —  same  complexion,  same  figure,  same 
little  eyes  that  were  lively  and  black.  It  is  difficult  to 
understand  why  Gasselin  and  Mariotte  had  never  mar- 
ried ;  possibly  it  might  have  seemed  immoral,  they 
were   so   like    brother   and    sister.     Mariotte's   wages 


Beatrix,  33 

were  ninety  francs  a  year ;  Gasselin's,  three  hundred. 
But  thousands  of  francs  offered  to  them  elsewhere 
would  not  have  induced  either  to  leave  the  Guenic 
household.  Both  were  under  the  orders  of  Made- 
moiselle, who,  from  the  time  of  the  war  in  La  Vendee 
to  tlie  period  of  her  brother's  return,  had  ruled  the 
house.  When  she  learned  that  the  baron  was  about  to 
bring  home  a  mistress,  she  had  been  moved  to  great 
emotion,  believing  that  she  must  yield  the  seep-  • 
tre  of  the  household  and  abdicate  in  favor  of  the 
Baronne  de  Guenic,  whose  subject  she  was  now  com- 
pelled to  be. 

Mademoiselle  Zephirine  was  therefore  agreeably 
surprised  to  find  in  Fanny  O'Brien  a  young  woman 
born  to  the  highest  rank,  to  whom  the  petty  cares  of  a 
poor  household  were  extremely  distasteful,  —  one  who, 
like  other  fine  souls,  would  far  have  preferred  to  eat 
plain  bread  rather  than  the  choicest  food  if  she  had 
to  prepare  it  for  herself ;  a  woman  capable  of  accom- 
plishing all  the  duties,  even  the  most  painful,  of 
humanity,  strong  under  necessary  privations,  but  with- 
out courage  for  commonplace  avocations.  When  the 
baron  begged  his  sister  in  his  wife's  name  to  continue 
in  charge  of  the  household,  the  old  maid  kissed  the 
baroness  like  a  sister ;  she  made  a  daughter  of  her,  she 
adored  her,  overjoyed  to  be  left  in  control  of  the 
liousehold,  which  she  managed  rigorously  on  a  system 
of  almost  inconceivable  economy,  which  was  never 
relaxed  except  for  some  great  occasion,  such  as  the 
lying-in  of  her  sister,  and  her  nourishment,  and  all 
that  concerned  Calyste,  the  worshipped  son  of  the 
wliole  household. 

3 


34  Beatrix. 

Though  the  two  servants  were  accustomed  to  this 
stern  regime,  and  no  orders  need  ever  have  been  given 
to  them,  for  the  interests  of  their  masters  were  greater 
to  their  minds  than  their  own,  —  were  their  own  in 
fact,  —  Mademoiselle  Zephirine  insisted  on  looking 
after  everything.  Her  attention  being  never  dis- 
tracted, she  knew,  without  going  up  to  verify  her 
knowledge,  how  large  was  the  heap  of  nuts  in  the 
barn  ;  and  how  many  oats  remained  in  the  bin  without 
plunging  her  sinewy  arm  into  the  depths  of  it.  She 
carried  at  the  end  of  a  string  fastened  to  the  belt  of 
her  casaquin,  a  boatswain's  whistle,  with  which  she  w  as 
wont  to  summon  Mariotte  by  one,  and  Gasselin  by 
two  notes. 

Gasselin's  greatest  happiness  was  to  cultivate  the 
garden  and  produce  fine  fruits  and  vegetables.  He 
had  so  little  work  to  do  that  without  this  occupation  he 
would  certainly  have  felt  lost.  After  he  had  groomed 
his  horses  in  the  morning,  he  polished  the  floors  and 
cleaned  the  rooms  on  the  ground-floor,  then  he  went 
to  his  garden,  where  weed  or  damaging  insect  was 
never  seen.  Sometimes  Gasselin  was  observed  motion- 
less, bare-headed,  under  a  burning  sun,  watching  for  a 
field-mouse  or  the  terrible  grub  of  the  cockchafer; 
then,  as  soon  as  it  was  caught,  he  would  rush  with  the 
joy  of  a  child  to  show  his  masters  the  noxious  beast 
that  had  occupied  his  mind  for  a  week.  He  took 
pleasure  in  going  to  Croisic  on  fast-days,  to  purchase  a 
fish  to  be  had  for  less  money  there  than  at  Guerande. 

Thus  no  household  was  ever  more  truly  one,  more 
united  in  interests,  more  bound  together  than  this 
noble  family  sacredly  devoted  to  its  duty.     Masters 


Beatrix,  35 

and  servants  seemed  made  for  one  another.  For  twenty- 
five  years  there  had  been  neither  trouble  nor  discord. 
The  only  griefs  were  the  petty  aihnents  of  the  little 
boy,  the  only  terrors  were  caused  by  the  events  of 
1814  and  those  of  1830.  If  the  same  things  were  in- 
variably done  at  the  same  hours,  if  the  food  was  sub- 
jected to  the  regularity  of  times  and  seasons,  this 
monotony,  like  that  of  Nature  varied  only  by  altera- 
tions of  cloud  and  rain  and  sunshine,  was  sustained  by 
the  affection  existing  in  the  hearts  of  all,  —  the  more 
fruitful,  the  more  beneficent  because  it  emanated  from 
natural  causes. 


36  Beatrix, 


ill. 


THREE    BRETON    SILHOUETTES. 

When  night  had  fairly  fallen,  Gasselin  came  into 
the  hall  and  asked  his  master  respectfully  if  he  had 
further  need  of  him. 

"  You  can  go  out,  or  go  to  bed,  after  prayers,"  re- 
plied the  baron,  waking  up,  "  unless  Madame  or  my 
sister  —  " 

The  two  ladies  here  made  a  sign  of  consent. 
Gasselin  then  knelt  down,  seeing  that  his  masters  rose 
to  kneel  upon  their  chairs ;  Mariotte  also  knelt  before 
her  stool.  Mademoiselle  du  Guenic  then  said  the 
prayer  aloud.  After  it  was  over,  some  one  rapped  at 
the  door  on  the  lane.     Gasselin  went  to  open  it. 

"  I  dare  say  it  is  Monsieur  le  cure  ;  he  usually  6omes 
first,"  said  Mariotte. 

Every  one  now  recognized  the  rector's  foot  on  the 
resounding  steps  of  the  portico.  He  bowed  respect- 
fully to  the  three  occupants  of  the  room,  and  addressed 
them  in  phrases  of  that  unctuous  civility  which  priests 
are  accustomed  to  use.  To  the  rather  absent-minded 
greeting  of  the  mistress  of  the  house,  he  replied  by  an 
ecclesiastically  inquisitive  look. 

"  Are  you  anxious  or  ill,  Madame  la  baronne?  "  he 
asked. 

"  Thank  you,  no,"  she  replied. 


BSatrix,  37 

Monsieur  Grimont,  a  man  of  fifty,  of  middle  height, 
lost  in  hi8  cassock,  from  which  issued  two  stout  shoes 
with  silver  buckles,  exhibited  above  his  bands  a  plump 
visage,  and  a  generally  white  skin  though  yellow  in 
spots.  His  hands  were  dimpled.  His  abbatial  face 
had  something  of  the  Dutch  burgomaster  in  the  placid- 
ity of  its  complexion  and  its  flesh  tones,  and  of  the 
Breton  peasant  in  the  straight  black  hair  and  the 
vivacity  of  the  brown  eyes,  which  preserved,  neverthe- 
less, a  priestly  decorum.  His  gayety,  that  of  a  man 
whose  conscience  was  calm  and  pure,  admitted  a  joke. 
His  manner  had  nothing  uneasy  or  dogged  about  it, 
like  that  of  many  poor  rectors  whose  existence  or 
whose  power  is  contested  by  their  parishioners,  and  who 
instead  of  being,  as  Napoleon  sublimely  said,  the 
moral  leaders  of  the  population  and  the  natural  justices 
of  peace,  are  treated  as  enemies.  Obser^^ng  Monsieur 
Grimont  as  he  marched  through  Guerande,  the  most 
irreligious  of  travellers  would  have  recognized  the 
sovereign  of  that  Catholic  town ;  but  this  same  sove- 
reign lowered  his  spiritual  superiority  before  the 
feudal  supremacy  of  the  du  Guenics.  In  their  salon 
he  was  as  a  chaplain  in  his  seigneur's  house.  In 
church,  when  he  gave  the  benediction,  his  hand  was 
always  first  stretched  out  toward  the  chapel  belonging 
to  the  Gunnies,  where  their  mailed  hand  and  their 
device  were  carved  upon  the  key-stone  of  the  arch. 

''  I  thought  that  Mademoiselle  de  Pen-Hoel  had 
already  arrived,"  said  the  rector,  sitting  down,  and 
taking  the  hand  of  the  baroness  to  kiss  it.  "  She  is 
fretting  unpunctual.  Can  it  be  that  the  fashion  of 
dissipation  is  contagious?  I  see  that  Monsieur  lo 
ciiovalier  is  again  at  Les  Touches  this  evening." 


38  Beatrix. 

*' Don't  say  anythiug  about  those  visits  before 
Mademoiselle  de  Pen-Hoel,"  cried  the  old  maid, 
eagerly. 

''Ah!  mademoiselle,"  remarked  Mariotte,  "you 
can't  prevent  the  town  from  gossiping." 

"  What  do  they  say?  "  asked  the  baroness. 

"  The  young  girls  and  the  old  women  all  say  that  he 
is  in  love  with  Mademoiselle  des  Touches." 

"  A  lad  of  Calyste's  make  is  playing  his  proper  part 
in  making  the  women  love  him,"  said  the  baron. 

"Here  comes  Mademoiselle  de  Pen-Hoel,"  said 
Mariotte. 

The  gravel  in  the  court-yard  crackled  under  the  dis- 
creet footsteps  of  the  coming  lady,  who  was  accom- 
panied by  a  page  supplied  with  a  lantern.  Seeing  this 
lad,  Mariotte  removed  her  stool  to  the  great  hall  for  the 
purpose  of  talking  with  him  by  the  gleam  of  his  rush- 
light, which  was  burned  at  the  cost  of  his  rich  and 
miserly  mistress,  thus  economizing  those  of  her  own 
masters. 

This  elderly  demoiselle  was  a  thin,  dried-up  old 
maid,  yellow  as  the  parchment  of  a  Parliament  record, 
wrinkled  as  a  lake  ruffled  by  the  wind,  with  gray  eyes, 
large  prominent  teeth,  and  the  hands  of  a  man.  She 
was  rather  short,  a  little  crooked,  possibly  hump- 
backed ;  but  no  one  had  ever  been  inquisitive  enough 
to  ascertain  the  nature  of  her  perfections  or  her  im- 
perfections. Dressed  in  the  same  style  as  Mademoi- 
selle du  Guenic,  she  stirred  an  enormous  quantity  of 
petticoats  and  linen  whenever  she  wanted  to  find  one 
or  other  of  the  two  apertures  of  her  gown  through 
which  she  reached  her  pockets.     The  strangest  jingling 


Beatrix,  39 

of  keys  and  money  then  echoed  among  her  garments. 
She  always  wore,  dangling  from  one  side,  the  bunch  of 
keys  of  a  good  housekeeper,  and  from  the  other  her 
silver  snuff-box,  thimble,  knitting-needles,  and  other 
implements  that  were  also  resonant.  Instead  of  Made- 
moiselle Zephirine's  wadded  hood,  she  wore  a  green 
bonnet,  in  which  she  may  have  visited  her  melons, 
for  it  had  passed,  like  them,  from  green  to  yellowish; 
as  for  its  shape,  our  present  fashions  are  just  now 
bringing  it  back  to  Paris,  after  twenty  years  absence, 
under  the  name  of  Bibi.  This  bonnet  was  constructed 
under  her  own  eye  and  by  the  hands  of  her  nieces,  out 
of  green  Florence  silk  bought  at  Guerande,  and  an  old 
bonnet-shape,  renewed  every  five  years  at  Nantes,  — 
for  Mademoiselle  de  Pen-Hoel  allowed  her  bonnets  the 
longevity  of  a  legislature.  Her  nieces  also  made  her 
gowns,  cut  by  an  immutable  pattern.  The  old  lady 
still  used  the  cane  with  the  short  hook  that  all  women 
carried  in  the  early  days  of  Marie-Antoinette.  She 
belonged  to  the  very  highest  nobility  of  Brittany. 
Her  arms  bore  the  ermine  of  its  ancient  dukes.  In 
her  and  in  her  sister  the  illustrious  Breton  house  of  the 
Pen-Hoels  ended.  Her  younger  sister  had  married  a 
Kergarouet,  who,  in  spite  of  the  deep  disapproval  of 
the  whole  region,  added  the  name  of  Pen-Hoel  to  his 
own  and  called  himself  the  Vicomte  de  Kergarouet- 
Pen-Hoel. 

"  Heaven  has  punished  him,"  said  the  old  lady  ;  '*  he 
has  nothing  but  daughters,  and  the  Kergarouet-Pen- 
Iloiil  name  will  be  wiped  out." 

Mademoiselle  de  Pen-Hoiil  possessed  about  seven 
thousand    francs   a   year   from   the   rental  of    lauds. 


40  Beatrix. 

She  had  come  into  her  property  at  thirty-six  years  of 
age,  and  managed  it  herself,  inspecting  it  on  horse- 
back, and  displaying  on  all  points  the  firmness  of 
character  which  is  noticeable  in  most  deformed  per- 
sons. Her  avarice  was  admired  by  the  whole  country 
round,  never  meeting  with  the  slightest  disapproval. 
She  kept  one  woman-servant  and  the  page.  Her 
yearly  expenses,  not  including  taxes,  did  not  amount 
to  over  a  thousand  francs.  Consequently,  she  was  the 
object  of  the  cajoleries  of  the  Kergarouet-Pen-Hoels, 
who  passed  the  winters  at  Nantes,  and  the  summers  at 
their  estate  on  the  banks  of  the  Loire  below  I'lndret. 
She  was  supposed  to  be  ready  to  leave  her  fortune  and 
her  savings  to  whichever  of  her  nieces  pleased  her 
best.  Every  three  months  one  or  other  of  the  four 
demoiselles  de  Kergarouet-Pen-Hoel,  (the  youngest  of 
whom  was  twelve,  and  the  eldest  twenty  years  of  age) 
came  to  spend  a  few  days  with  her. 

A  friend  of  Zephirine  du  Guenic,  Jacqueline  de 
Pen-Hoel,  brought  up  to  adore  the  Breton  grandeur  of 
the  du  Guenics,  had  formed,  ever  since  the  birth  of 
Calyste,  the  plan  of  transmitting  her  property  to  the 
chevalier  by  marrying  him  to  whichever  of  her  nieces 
the  Vicomtesse  de  Kergarouet-Pen-Hoel,  their  mother, 
would  bestow  upon  him.  She  dreamed  of  buying  back 
some  of  the  best  of  the  Guenic  property  from  the 
farmer  engagistes.  When  avarice  has  an  object  it 
ceases  to  be  a  vice ;  it  becomes  a  means  of  virtue ;  its 
privations  are  a  perpetual  offering ;  it  has  the  grandeur 
of  an  intention  beneath  its  meannesses.  Perhaps 
Zephirine  was  in  the  secret  of  Jacqueline's  intention. 
Perhaps    even    the  baroness,   whose  whole   soul   was 


Beatrix.  41 

occupied  by  love  for  her  son  and  tenderness  for  bis 
father,  may  have  guessed  it  as  she  saw  with  what 
wily  perseverance  Mademoiselle  de  Pen-Hoel  brought 
with  her  her  favorite  niece,  Charlotte  de  Kergarouet, 
now  sixteen  years  of  age.  The  rector.  Monsieur  Gri- 
mont,  was  certainly  in  her  confidence ;  it  was  he  who 
helped  the  old  maid  to  invest  her  savings. 

But  Mademoiselle  de  Pen-Hoel  might  have  had  three 
hundred  thousand  francs  in  gold,  she  might  have  had 
ten  times  the  landed  property  she  actually  possessed, 
and  the  du  Guenics  would  never  have  allowed  them- 
selves to  pay  her  the  slightest  attention  that  the  old 
woman  could  construe  as  looking  to  her  fortune. 
From  a  feeling  of  truly  Breton  pride,  Jacqueline  de 
Pen-Hoel,  glad  of  the  supremacy  accorded  to  her  old 
friend  Zephirine  and  the  du  Guenics,  always  showed 
herself  honored  by  her  relations  with  Madame  du 
Guenic  and  her  sister-in-law.  She  even  went  so  far 
as  to  conceal  the  sort  of  sacrifice  to  which  she  con- 
sented every  evening  in  allowing  lier  page  to  burn  in 
the  Guenic  hall  that  singular  gingerbread-colored 
candle  called  an  oribus  which  is  still  used  in  certain 
parts  of  western  France. 

Thus  this  rich  old  maid  was  nobility,  pride,  and 
grandeur  personified.  At  the  moment  when  you  are 
reading  this  portrait  of  her,  the  Abbe  Grimont  has 
just  indiscreetly  revealed  that  on  the  evening  when  the 
old  baron,  the  young  chevalier,  and  Gasselin  secretly 
departed  to  join  Madame  (to  the  terror  of  the  baron- 
ess and  the  great  joy  of  all  Bretons)  Mademoiselle  de 
lV'n-Ho91  had  given  the  baron  ten  thousand  francs  in 
gold,  —  an  immense  sacrifice,  to  which  the  abbe  added 


42  Beatrix, 

another  ten  thousand,  a  tithe  collected  by  him,— 
charging  the  old  hero  to  offer  the  whole,  in  the  name  of 
the  Pen-Hoels  and  of  the  parish  of  Guerande,  to  the 
mother  of  Henri  V. 

Mademoiselle  de  Pen-Hoel  treated  Calyste  as  if  she 
felt  that  her  intentions  gave  her  certain  rights  over 
him ;  her  plans  seemed  to  authorize  a  supervision. 
Not  that  her  ideas  were  strict  in  the  matter  of  gallantry, 
for  she  had,  in  fact,  the  usual  indulgence  of  the  old 
women  of  the  old  school,  but  she  held  in  horror  the 
modern  ways  of  revolutionary  morals.  Calyste,  who 
might  have  gained  in  her  estimation  by  a  few  ad- 
ventures with  Breton  girls,  would  have  lost  it 
considerably  had  she  seen  him  entangled  in  what 
she  called  innovations.  She  might  have  disinterred 
a  little  gold  to  pay  for  the  results  of  a  love-affair, 
but  if  Calyste  had  driven  a  tilbury  or  talked  of 
a  visit  to  Paris  she  would  have  thought  him  dis- 
sipated, and  declared  him  a  spendthrift.  Impossi- 
ble to  say  what  she  might  not  have  done  had  she 
found  him  reading  novels  or  an  impious  newspaper. 
To  her,  novel  ideas  meant  the  overthrow  of  succession 
of  crops,  ruin  under  the  name  of  improvements  and 
methods ;  in  short,  mortgaged  lands  as  the  inevitable 
result  of  experiments.  To  her,  prudence  was  the  true 
method  of  making  your  fortune ;  good  management 
consisted  in  filling  your  granaries  with  wheat,  rye,  and 
flax,  and  waiting  for  a  rise  at  the  risk  of  being  called  a 
monopolist,  and  clinging  to  those  grain-sacks  obsti- 
nately. By  singular  chance  she  had  often  made  lucky 
sales  which  confirmed  her  principles.  She  was  thought 
to    be   maliciously   clever,    but   in   fact   she    was   not 


BSatrix.  43 

f 

quick  willed ;  on  the  other  hfind,  being  as  methodical 
:is  ii  Dutcliman,  prudent  as  a  cat,  and  persistent  as  a 
priest,  those  qualities  in  a  region  of  routine  like 
Brittany  were,  practically,  the  equivalent  of  intellect. 

'*Will  Monsieur  du  Halga  join  us  this  evening?" 
asked  Mademoiselle  de  Pen-Hoel,  taking  off  her  knitted 
mittens  after  the  usual  exchange  of  greetings. 

*' Yes,  mademoiselle;  I  met  him  taking  his  dog  to 
walk  on  the  mall,"  replied  the  rector. 

*'  Ha !  then  our  mouche  will  be  lively  to-night. 
Last  evening  we  were  only  four." 

At  the  word  mouche  the  rector  rose  and  took  from  a 
drawer  in  one  of  the  tall  chests  a  small  round  basket 
made  of  fine  osier,  a  pile  of  ivory  counters  yellow  as  a 
Turkish  pipe  after  twenty  years'  usage,  and  a  pack  of 
cards  as  greasy  as  those  of  the  custom-house  officers  at 
Saint-Nazaire,  who  change  them  only  once  in  two 
weeks.  These  the  abbe  brought  to  the  table,  arrang- 
ing the  proper  number  of  counters  before  each  player, 
and  putting  the  basket  in  the  centre  of  the  table  beside 
the  lamp,  with  infantine  eagerness,  and  the  manner  of 
a  man  accustomed  to  perform  this  little  service. 

A  knock  at  the  outer  gate  given  firmly  in  military 
fashion  echoed  through  the  stillness  of  the  ancient 
mansion.  Mademoiselle  de  Pen-Hoiirs  page  went 
gravely  to  open  the  door,  and  presently  the  long,  lean, 
methodically  clothed  person  of  the  Chevalier  du  Halga, 
former  flag-captain  to  Admiral  de  Kergarouet,  defined 
itself  in  black  on  the  penumbra  of  the  portico. 

*'  Welcome,  chevalier !  "  cried  Mademoiselle  de  Peii- 
Hoel. 

"  The  altar  is  raised,"  said  the  abb^. 


44  Beatrix. 

The  chevalier  was  a  man  in  poor  health,  who  wore 
flannel  for  his  rheumatism,  a  black-silk  skull-cap  to 
protect  his  head  from  fog,  and  a  spencer  to  guard  ■  his 
precious  chest  from  the  sudden  gusts  which  freshen 
the  atmosphere  of  Guerande.  He  always  went  armed 
with  a  gold-headed  cane  to  drive  away  the  dogs  who 
paid  untimely  court  to  a  favorite  little  bitch  who 
usually  accompanied  him.  This  man,  fussy  as  a  fine 
lady,  worried  by  the  slightest  contretemps^  speaking  low 
to  spare  his  voice,  had  been  in  his  early  days  one  of  the 
most  intrepid  and  most  competent  officers  of  the  old 
navy.  He  had  won  the  confidence  of  de  Suffren  in  the 
Indian  Ocean,  and  the  friendship  of  the  Comte  de  Por- 
tenduere.  His  splendid  conduct  while  flag-captain  to 
Admiral  Kergarouet  was  written  in  visible  letters  on 
his  scarred  face.  To  see  him  now  no  one  would  have 
imagined  the  voice  that  ruled  the  storm,  the  eye  that 
compassed  the  sea,  the  courage,  indomitable,  of  the 
Breton  sailor. 

The  chevalier  never  smoked,  never  swore ;  he  was 
gentle  and  tranquil  as  a  girl,  as  much  concerned  about 
his  little  dog  Thisbe  and  her  caprices  as  though  he 
were  an  elderly  dowager.  In  this  way  he  gave  a  high 
idea  of  his  departed  gallantry,  but  he  never  so  much  as 
alluded  to  the  deeds  of  surpassing  bravery  which  had 
astonished  the  doughty  old  admiral,  Comte  d'Estaing. 
Tliough  his  manner  was  that  of  an  invalid,  and  he 
walked  as  if  stepping  on  eggs  and  complained  about 
the  sharpness  of  the  wind  or  the  heat  of  the  sun,  or  the 
dampness  of  the  misty  atmosphere,  he  exhibited  a  set 
of  the  whitest  teeth  in  the  reddest  of  gums,  —  a  fact 
reassuring  as  to  his  maladies,  which  were,  however, 


BSatrix.  45 

rather  expensive,  consisting  as  they  did  of  four  daily 
meals  of  monastic  amplitude.  His  bodily  frame,  like 
that  of  the  baron,  was  bony,  and  indestructibly 
strong,  and  covered  with  a  parchment  glued  to  his 
bones  as  the  skin  of  an  Arab  horse  on  the  muscles  which 
shine  in  the  sun.  His  skin  retained  the  tawny  color 
it  received  in  India,  whence,  however,  he  did  not  bring 
back  either  facts  or  ideas.  He  had  emigrated  with  the 
rest  of  his  friends,  lost  his  property,  and  was  now  end- 
ing his  days  with  the  cross  of  Saint-Louis  and  a  pen- 
sion of  two  thousand  francs,  as  the  legal  reward  of  his 
services,  paid  from  the  fund  of  the  Invalides  de  la 
Marine.  The  slight  hypochondria  which  made  him 
invent  his  imaginary  ills  is  easily  explained  by  his 
actual  sufferings  during  the  emigration.  He  served  in 
the  Russian  navy  until  the  day  when  the  Emperor 
Alexander  ordered  him  to  be  employed  against  France ; 
he  then  resigned  and  went  to  live  at  Odessa,  near  the 
Due  de  Richelieu,  with  whom  he  returned  to  France. 
It  was  the  duke  who  obtained  for  this  glorious  relic  of 
the  old  Breton  navy  the  pension  which  enabled  him 
to  live.  On  the  death  of  Louis  XVIII.  he  returned 
to  Guerande,  and  became,  after  a  while,  mayor  of  the 
city. 

The  rector,  tha  chevalier,  and  Mademoiselle  de  Pen- 
Hoel  had  regularly  passed  their  evenings  for  the  last 
fifteen  years  at  the  hotel  du  Guunic,  where  the  other 
noble  personages  of  the  town  and  neighborhood  also 
came.  It  will  readily  be  understood  that  the  du 
Gu(5nic8  were  at  the  head  of  the  faubourg  Saint-Ger- 
main of  the  old  Breton  province,  where  no  member  of 


46  Beatrix. 

the  new  administration  sent  down  by  the  new  govern- 
ment was  ever  allowed  to  penetrate.  For  the  last  six 
years  the  rector  coughed  when  he  came  to  the  crucial 
words,  Domine,  salvum  fac  regem.  Politics  were  still 
at  that  point  in  Guerande. 


Beatrix,  47 


IV. 

A   NORMAL   EVENING. 

Mouche  i8  a  game  played  with  five  cards  dealt  to 
each  player,  and  one  turned  over.  The  turned-over 
card  is  trumps.  At  each  round  the  player  is  at 
liberty  to  run  his  chances  or  to  abstain  from  playing 
his  card.  If  he  abstains  he  loses  nothing  but  his  own 
stake,  for  as  long  as  there  are  no  forfeits  in  the  basket 
each  player  puts  in  a  trifling  sum.  If  he  plays  and 
wins  a  trick  he  is  paid  pro  rata  to  the  stake;  that  is, 
if  there  are  five  sous  in  the  basket,  he  wins  one  sou. 
The  player  who  fails  to  win  a  trick  is  made  mouche; 
he  has  to  pay  the  whole  stake,  which  swells  the  basket 
for  the  next  game.  Those  who  decline  to  play  throw 
down  their  cards  during  the  game;  but  their  play  is 
held  to  be  null.  The  players  can  exchange  their  cards 
with  the  remainder  of  the  pack,  as  in  ecarte,  but  only 
by  order  of  sequence,  so  that  the  first  and  second 
holders  may,  and  sometimes  do,  absorb  the  remainder 
of  the  pack  between  them.  The  turned-over  trump 
card  belongs  to  the  dealer,  who  is  always  the  last;  he 
has  the  right  to  exchange  it  for  any  card  in  his  own 
hand.  One  powerful  card  is  of  more  importance  than 
all  the  rest;  4t  is  called  Mistigris.  Mistigris  is  the 
knave  of  clubs. 


48  Beatrix, 

This  game,  simple  as  it  is,  is  not  lacking  in  inter- 
est. The  cupidity  natural  to  mankind  develops  in  it; 
so  does  diplomatic  wiliness ;  also  play  of  countenance. 
At  the  hotel  du  Guenic,  each  of  the  players  took 
twenty  counters,  representing  five  sous ;  which  made 
the  sum  total  of  the  stake  for  each  game  five  far- 
things, a  large  amount  in  the  eyes  of  this  company. 
Supposing  some  extraordinary  luck,  fifty  sous  might 
be  won,  —  more  capital  than  any  person  in  Gueraude 
spent  in  the  course  of  any  one  day.  Consequently 
Mademoiselle  de  Pen-Hoel  put  into  this  game  (the 
innocence  of  which  is  only  surpassed  in  the  nomen- 
clature of  the  Academy  by  that  of  La  Bataille)  a  pas- 
sion corresponding  to  that  of  the  hunters  after  big 
game.  Mademoiselle  Zephirine,  who  went  shares  in 
the  game  with  the  baroness,  attached  no  less  impor- 
tance to  it.  To  put  up  one  farthing  for  the  chance 
of  winning  five,  game  after  game,  was  to  this  con- 
firmed hoarder  a  mighty  financial  operation,  into 
which  she  put  as  much  mental  action  as  the  most 
eager  speculator  at  the  Bourse  expends  during  the 
rise  and  fall  of  consols. 

By  a  certain  diplomatic  convention,  dating  from 
September,  1825,  when  Mademoiselle  de  Pen-Hoel 
lost  thirty-five  sous,  the  game  was  to  cease  as  soon  as 
a  person  losing  ten  sous  should  express  the  wish  to 
retire.  Politeness  did  not  allow  the  rest  to  give  the 
retiring  player  the  pain  of  seeing  the  game  go  on 
without  him.  But,  as  all  passions  have  their  Jesuit- 
ism, the  chevalier  and  the  baron,  those  wily  politi- 
cians, had  found  a -means  of  eluding  this  charter. 
When  all  the  players  but  one  were  anxious  to  continue 


Beatrix,  49 

an  exciting  game,  the  daring  sailor,  du  Halga,  one  of 
those  rich  fellows  prodigal  of  costs  they  ^o  not  pay, 
would  offer  ten  counters  to  Mademoiselle  Zephirine  or 
Mademoiselle  Jacqueline,  when  either  of  them,  or 
both  of  them,  had  lost  their  five  sous,  on  condition  of 
reimbursement  in  case  they  won.  An  old  bachelor 
could  allow  himself  such  gallantries  to  the  sex.  The 
baron  also  offered  ten  counters  to  the  old  maids,  but 
under  the  honest  pretext  of  continuing  the  game.  The 
miserly  maidens  accepted,  not,  however,  without  some 
pressing,  as  is  the  use  and  wont  of  maidens.  But, 
before  giving  way  to  this  vast  prodigality  the  baron 
and  the  chevalier  were  required  to  have  won;  other- 
wise the  offer  would  have  been  taken  as  an  insult. 

Monche  became  a  brilliant  affair  when  a  Demoiselle 
de  Kergarouet  was  in  transit  with  her  aunt.  We  use 
the  single  name,  for  the  Kergarouets  had  never  been 
able  to  Induce  any  one  to  call  them  Kergarouet-Pen- 
Hoel,  —  not  even  their  servants,  although  the  latter  had 
strict  orders  so  to  do.  At  these  times  the  aunt  held 
out  to  the  niece  as  a  signal  treat  the  mouche  at  the  du 
Guenics.  The  girl  was  ordered  to  look  amiable,  an 
easy  thing  to  do  in  presence  of  the  beautiful  Calyste, 
whom  the  four  Kergarouet  young  ladies  all  adored. 
Brought  up  in  the  midst  of  modern  civilization,  these 
young  persons  cared  little  for  five  sous  a  game,  and 
on  such  occasions  the  stakes  went  higher.  Those 
were  evenings  of  great  emotion  to  the  old  blind  sister. 
The  baroness  would  give  her  sundry  hints  by  pressing 
her  foot  a  certain  number  of  times,  according  to  the 
size  of  the  stake  it  was  safe  to  play.  To  play  or  not 
to  play,  if  the  basket  were  full,  involved  an  inward 

4 


50  Beatrix, 

struggle,  where  cupidity  fought  with  fear.  If  Charlotte 
de  Kergarouet,  who  was  usually  called  giddy,  was 
lucky  in  her  bold  throws,  her  aunt  on  their  return 
home  (if  she  had  not  won  herself),  would  be  cold  and 
disapproving,  and  lecture  the  girl:  she  had  too  much 
decision  in  her  character ;  a  young  person  should  never 
assert  herself  in  presence  of  her  betters ;  her  manner 
of  taking  the  basket  and  beginning  to  play  was 
really  insolent ;  the  proper  behavior  of  a  young  girl  de- 
manded much  more  reserve  and  greater  modesty;  etc. 
It  can  easily  be  imagined  that  these  games,  carried 
on  nightly  for  twenty  years,  were  interrupted  now 
and  then  by  narratives  of  events  in  the  town,  or  by 
discussions  on  public  events.  Sometimes  the  players 
would  sit  for  half  an  hour,  their  cards  held  fan-shape 
on  their  stomachs,  engaged  in  talking.  If,  as  a  result 
of  these  inattentions,  a  counter  was  missing  from  the 
basket,  every  one  eagerly  declared  that  he  or  she  had 
put  in  their  proper  number.  Usually  the  chevalier 
made  up  the  deficiency,  being  accused  by  the  rest  of 
thinking  so  much  of  his  buzzing  ears,  his  chilly  chest, 
and  other  symptoms  of  invalidism  that  he  must  have 
forgotten  his  stake.  But  no  sooner  did  he  supply  the 
missing  counter  than  Zephirine  and  Jacqueline  were 
seized  with  remorse ;  they  imagined  that,  possibly,  they 
themselves  had  forgotten  their  stake;  they  believed 
—  they  doubted  —  but,  after  all,  the  chevalier  was 
rich  enough  to  bear  such  a  trifling  misfortune.  These 
dignified  and  noble  personages  had  the  delightful  pet- 
tiness of  suspecting  each  other.  Mademoiselle  do 
Pen-Hoel  would  almost  invariably  accuse  the  rector 
of  cheating  when  he  won  the  basket. 


Beatrix,  51 

*'It  is  singular,"  he  would  reply,  ^Hhat  I  never  cheat 
except  when  I  win  the  trick." 

Often  the  baron  would  forget  where  he  was  when 
the  talk  fell  on  the  misfortunes  of  the  royal  house. 
Sometimes  the  evening  ended  in  a  manner  that  was 
quite  unexpected  to  the  players,  who  all  counted  on  a 
certain  gain.  After  a  certain  number  of  games  and 
when  the  hour  grew  late,  these  excellent  people  would  be 
forced  to  separate  without  either  loss  or  gain,  but  not 
without  emotion.  On  these  sad  evenings  complaints 
were  made  of  mouche  itself;  it  was  dull,  it  was  long; 
the  players  accused  their  mouche  as  negroes  stone  the 
moon  in  the  water  when  the  weather  is  bad.  On  one 
occasion,  after  an  arrival  of  the  Vicomte  and  Vicom- 
tesse  de  Kergarouet,  there  was  talk  of  whist  and  bos- 
ton being  games  of  more  interest  than  mouche.  The 
baroness,  who  was  bored  by  mouche^  encouraged  the 
innovation,  and  all  the  company  —  but  not  without 
reluctance  —  adopted  it.  But  it  proved  impossible  to 
make  them  really  understand  the  new  games,  which, 
on  the  departure  of  the  Kergarouets,  were  voted  head- 
splitters,  algebraic  problems,  and  intolerably  difficult 
to  play.  All  preferred  their  mouche^  their  dear, 
agreeable  vicuche.  Mouche  accordingly  triumphed 
over  modern  games,  as  all  ancient  things  have  ever 
triumphed  in  Brittany  oyer  novelties. 

While  the  rector  was  dealing  the  cards  the  baroness 
was  asking  the  Chevalier  du  Halga  the  same  questions 
which  she  had  asked  him  the  evening  before  about  his 
health.  The  chevalier  made  it  a  point  of  honor  to 
have  new  ailments.  Inquiries  might  be  alike,  but  the 
nautical  hero  had  singular  advantages  in  the  way  of 


52  Beatrix. 

replies.  To-day  it  chanced  that  his  ribs  troubled 
him.  But  here's  a  remarkable  thiug!  never  did  the 
worthy  chevalier  complain  of  his  wounds.  The  ills 
that  were  really  the  matter  with  him  he  expected,  he 
knew  them  and  he  bore  them ;  but  his  fancied  ailments, 
his  headaches,  the  gnawings  in  his  stomach,  the 
buzzing  in  his  ears,  and  a  thousand  other  fads  and 
symptoms  made  him  horribly  uneasy;  he  posed  as 
incurable,  —  and  not  without  reason,  for  doctors  up 
to  the  present  time  have  found  no  remedy  for  dis- 
eases that  don't  exist. 

''Yesterday  the  trouble  was,  I  believe,  in  your 
legs,"  said  the  rector. 

"It  moves  about,"  replied  the  chevalier. 

"Legs  to  ribs?  "  asked  Mademoiselle  Zephirine. 

''Without  stopping  on  the  way?"  said  Mademoiselle 
de  Pen-Hoel,  smiling. 

The  chevalier  bowed  gravely,  making  a  negative 
gesture  which  was  not  a  little  droll,  and  proved  to  an 
observer  that  in  his  youth  the  sailor  had  been  witty 
and  loving  and  beloved.  Perhaps  his  fossil  life  at 
Guerande  hid  many  memories.  When  he  stood, 
solemnly  planted  on  his  two  heron-legs  in  the  sun- 
shine on  the  mall,  gazing  at  the  sea  or  watching  the 
gambols  of  his  little  dog,  perhaps  he  was  living  again 
in  some  terrestrial  paradise  of  a  past  that  was  rich  in 
recollections. 

"So  the  old  Due  de  Lenoncourt  is  dead,"  said  the 
baron,  remembering  the  paragraph  of  the  "Quoti- 
dienne,"  where  his  wife  had  stopped  reading.  "Well, 
the  first  gentleman  of  the  Bedchamber  followed  his 
master  soon.     I  shall  go  next." 


Beatrix,  53 

*'My  dear,  my  dear!  "  said  his  wife,  gently  tapping 
the  bony  calloused  hand  of  her  husband. 

''Let  him  say  what  he  likes,  sister,"  said  Zephirine; 
"as  long  as  I  am  above  ground  he  can't  be  under  it; 
I  am  the  elder." 

A  gay  smile  played  on  the  old  woman's  lips. 
Whenever  the  baron  made  reflections  of  that  kind,  the 
players  and  the  visitors  present  looked  at  each  other 
with  emotion,  distressed  by  the  sadness  of  the  king 
of  Guerande;  and  after  they  had  left  the  house  they 
would  say,  as  they  walked  home:  "Monsieur  duGuenic 
was  sad  to-night.  Did  you  notice  how  he  slept?** 
And  the  next  day  the  whole  town  would  talk  of  the 
matter.  "The  Baron  du  Guenic  fails,"  was  a  phrase 
that  opened  the  conversation  in  many  houses. 

"How  is  Thisbe?  "  asked  Mademoiselle  de  Pen- 
Hoel  of  the  chevalier,  as  soon  as  the  cards  were  dealt. 

"The  poor  little  thing  is  like  her  master,"  replied 
the  chevalier;  "she  has  some  nervous  trouble,  she  goes 
on  three  legs  constantly.     See,  like  this." 

In  raising  and  crooking  his  arm  to  imitate  the 
dog,  the  chevalier  exposed  his  hand  to  his  cunning 
neighbor,  who  wanted  to  see  if  he  had  Mistigris  or  the 
trump,  —  a  first  wile  to  which  he  succumbed. 

"Oh!  "  said  the  baroness,  "the  end  of  Monsieur  le 
curd's  nose  is  turning  white;  he  has  Mistigris." 

The  pleasure  of  having  Mistigris  was  so  great  to  the 
rector  —  as  it  was  to  the  other  pla^^ers  —  that  the  poor 
piiest  could  not  conceal  it.  In  all  human  faces  there 
is  a  spot  where  the  secret  emotions  of  the  heart  betray 
tlicmselves;  and  these  companions,  accustomed  for 
years  to  observe  each  other,  had  ended  by  Iniding  out 


54  Beatrix, 

that  spot  on  the  rector's  face:  when  he  had  Mistigris 
the  tip  of  his  nose  grew  pale. 

"You  had  company  to-day,"  said  the  chevalier  to 
Mademoiselle  de  Pen-Hoel. 

''Yes,  a  cousin  of  my  brother-in-law.  He  surprised 
me  by  announcing  the  marriage  of  the  Comtesse  de 
KergarouSt,  a  Demoiselle  de  Fontaine." 

*'The  daughter  of  '  Grand- Jacques, ' "  cried  the 
chevalier,  who  had  lived  with  his  admiral  during  his 
stay  in  Paris. 

"The  countess  is  his  heir;  she  has  married  an  old 
ambassador.  My  visitor  told  me  the  strangest  things 
about  our  neighbor.  Mademoiselle  des  Touches,  —  so 
strange  that  I  can't  believe  them.  If  they  were  true, 
Calyste  would  never  be  so  constantly  with  her;  he 
has  too  much  good  sense  not  to  perceive  such  mon- 
strosities —  " 

"Monstrosities?"  said  the  baron,  waked  up  by  the 
word. 

The  baroness  and  the  rector  exchanged  looks.  The 
cards  were  dealt;  Mademoiselle  de  Pen-Hoel  had 
Mistigris!  Impossible  to  continue  the  conversation! 
But  she  was  glad  to  hide  her  joy  under  the  excitement 
caused  by  her  last  word. 

"Your  play,  monsieur  le  baron,"  she  said,  with  an 
air  of  importance. 

"My  nephew  is  not  one  of  those  youths  who  like 
monstrosities,"  remarked  Zephirine,  taking  out  her 
knitting-needle  and  scratching  her  head. 

"  Mistigris !  "  cried  Mademoiselle  de  Pen-Hoel,  mak- 
ing no  reply  to  her  friend. 

The  rector,  who  appeared  to  be  well-informed  in  the 


Beatrix,  55 

matter  of  Calyste  and  Mademoiselle  des  Touches,  did 
not  enter  the  lists. 

'*  What  does  she  do  that  is  so  extraordinary,  Made- 
moiselle des  Touches  ?  "  asked  the  baron. 

*'She  smokes,"  replied  Mademoiselle  de  Pen-Ho3l. 

"That's  very  wholesome,"  said  the  chevalier. 

"About  her  property?  "  asked  the  baron. 

"Her  property?"  continued  the  old  maid.  "Oh, 
she  is  running  through  it." 

"The  game  is  mine!  "  said  the  baroness.  "See,  I 
have  king,  queen,  knave  of  trumps,  Mistigris,  and  a 
king.     We  win  the  basket,  sister." 

This  victory,  gained  at  one  stroke,  without  playing  a 
card,  horrified  Mademoiselle  de  Pen-Hoel,  who  ceased 
to  concern  herself  about  Calyste  and  Mademoiselle  des 
Touches.  By  nine  o'clock  no  one  remained  in  the 
salon  but  the  baroness  and  the  rector.  The  four  old 
people  had  gone  to  their  beds.  The  chevalier,  accord- 
ing to  his  usual  custom,  accompanied  Mademoiselle 
de  Pen-Hosl  to  her  house  in  the  Place  de  Guerande, 
making  remarks  as  they  went  along  on  the  cleverness 
of  the  last  play,  on  the  pleasures,  more  or  less  great, 
of  the  evening,  on  the  joy  with  which  Mademoiselle 
Zephirine  engulfed  her  gains  in  those  capacious 
pockets  of  hers,  —  for  the  old  blind  woman  no  longer 
repressed  upon  her  face  the  visible  signs  of  her  feel- 
ings. Madame  du  Gudnic's  evident  preoccupation 
was  the  chief  topic  of  conversation,  however.  The 
chevalier  had  remarked  the  abstraction  of  the  beauti- 
ful Iiish  woman.  When  they  reached  Mademoiselle 
de  Pen-Hoel's  door-step,  and  her  page  had  gone  in, 
the   old  lady  answered,  confidentially,  the  remarks  of 


56  BSatrix. 

the  chevalier  on  the  strangely  abstracted  air  of  the 
baroness :  — 

''I  know  the  cause.  Calyste  is  lost  unless  we  marry 
him  promptly.  He  loves  Mademoiselle  des  Touches, 
an  actress !  " 

"In  that  case,  send  for  Charlotte." 

*'I  have  sent;  my  sister  will  receive  my  letter  to- 
morrow," replied  Mademoiselle  de  Pen-Hoel,  bowing 
to  the  chevalier. 

Imagine  from  this  sketch  of  a  normal  evening  the 
hubbub  excited  in  Guerande  homes  by  the  arrival,  the 
stay,  the  departure,  or  even  the  mere  passage  through 
the  town,  of  a  stranger. 

When  no  sounds  echoed  from  the  baron's  chamber 
nor  from  that  of  his  sister,  the  baroness  looked  at  the 
rector,  who  was  playing  pensively  with  the  counters. 

"I  see  that  you  begin  to  share  my  anxiety  about 
Calyste,"  she  said  to  him. 

"Did  you  notice  Mademoiselle  de  Pen-Hoel's  dis- 
pleased looks  to-night?  "  asked  the  rector. 

"Yes,"  replied  the  baroness. 

"She  has,  as  I  know,  the  best  intentions  about  our 
dear  Calyste;  she  loves  him  as  though  he  were  her 
son;  his  conduct  in  Vendee  beside  his  father,  the 
praises  that  Madame  bestowed  upon  his  devotion, 
have  only  increased  her  affection  for  him.  She  in- 
tends to  execute  a  deed  of  gift  by  which  she  gives  her 
whole  property  at  her  death  to  whichever  of  her  nieces 
Calyste  marries.  I  know  that  you  have  another  and 
much  richer  marriage  in  Ireland  for  your  dear  Calyste ; 
but  it  is  well  to  have  two  strings  to  your  bow.  In 
case  your  family  will  not  take  charge  of  Calyste 's 


Beatrix,  57 

establishment,  Mademoiselle  de  Pen-Hoel's  fortune  is 
not  to  be  despised.  You  can  always  find  a  match  of 
seven  thousand  a  year  for  the  dear  boy,  but  it  is  not 
often  that  you  could  come  across  the  savings  of  forty 
years  and  landed  property  as  well  managed,  built 
up,  and  kept  in  repair  as  that  of  Mademoiselle  de 
I^en-HoSl.  That  ungodly  woman,  Mademoiselle  des 
Touches,  has  come  here  to  ruin  many  excellent  things. 
Her  life  is  now  known." 

*'And  what  is  it?"  asked  the  mother. 

''Oh!  that  of  a  trollop,"  replied  the  rector, — "a 
woman  of  questionable  morals ;  a  writer  for  the  stage ; 
frequenting  theatres  and  actors ;  squandering  her  for- 
tune among  pamphleteers,  painters,  musicians,  a  devil- 
ish society,  in  short.  She  writes  books  herself,  and 
has  taken  a  false  name  by  which  she  is  better  known, 
they  tell  me,  than  by  her  own.  She  seems  to  be  a 
sort  of  circus  woman  who  never  enters  a  church  except- 
to  look  at  the  pictures.  She  has  spent  quite  a  fortune 
in  decorating  Les  Touches  in  a  most  improper  fashion, 
making  it  a  Mohammedan  paradise  where  the  houris 
are  not  women.  There  is  more  wine  drunk  there,  they 
say,  during  the  few  weeks  of  her  stay  than  the  whole 
year  round  in  Guerande.  The  Demoiselles  Bougniol 
let  their  lodgings  last  year  to  men  with  beards,  who 
were  suspected  of  being  Blues;  they  sang  wicked 
songs  which  made  those  virtuous  women  blush  and 
weep,  and  spent  their  time  mostly  at  Les  Touches. 
And  this  is  the  woman  our  dear  Calyste  adores!  If 
that  creature  wanted  to-night  one  of  the  infamous 
books  in  which  the  atheists  of  the  present  day  scoff 
at  holy  things,  Calyste  would  saddle  his  horse  him- 


58  Beatrix. 

self  and  gallop  to  Nantes  for  it.  I  am  not  sure  that 
be  would  do  as  much  for  the  Church.  Moreover,  this 
Breton  woman  is  not  a  ro^^alist!  If  Calyste  were 
again  called  upon  to  strike  a  blow  for  the  cause,  and 
Mademoiselle  des  Touches  —  the  Sieur  Camille  Mau- 
pin,  that  is  her  other  name,  as  I  have  just  remembered 
—  if  she  wanted  to  keep  him  with  her  the  chevalier 
would  let  his  old  father  go  to  the  field  without  him." 

*'0h,  no!  "  said  the  baroness. 

"I  should  not  like  to  put  him  to  the  proof;  you 
would  suffer  too  much,"  replied  the  rector.  ''All 
Guerande  is  turned  upside  down  about  Calyste' s  pas- 
sion for  this  amphibious  creature,  who  is  neither  man 
nor  woman,  who  smokes  like  an  hussar,  writes  like  a 
journalist,  and  has  at  this  very  moment  in  her  house  the 
most  venomous  of  all  writers,  —  so  the  postmaster  says, 
and  he  's  a  juste-milieu  man  who  reads  the  papers. 
They  are  even  talking  about  her  at  Nantes.  This 
morning  the  Kergarouet  cousin,  who  wants  to  marry 
Charlotte  to  a  man  with  sixty  thousand  francs  a  year, 
went  to  see  Mademoiselle  de  Pen-Hoel,  and  filled  her 
mind  with  tales  about  Mademoiselle  des  Touches 
which  lasted  seven  hours.  It  is  now  striking  a  quar- 
ter to  ten,  and  Calyste  not  home;  he  is  at  Les 
Touches,  —  perhaps  he  won't  come  in  all  night." 

The  baroness  listened  to  the  rector,  who  was  substi- 
tuting monologue  for  dialogue  unconsciously  as  he 
looked  at  this  lamb  of  his  fold,  on  whose  face  could 
be  read  her  anxiety.  She  colored  and  trembled. 
When  the  worthy  man  saw  the  tears  in  the  beau- 
tiful eyes  of  the  terrified  mother,  lie  was  moved  to 
compassion. 


I  BSatrix.  59 

*'I  will  see  Mademoiselle  de  Pen-Ho3i  to-morrow,"  be 
said.  "  Don't  be  too  uneasy.  The  harm  may  not  be 
as  great  as  they  say  it  is.  I  will  find  out  the  truth. 
Mademoiselle  Jacqueline  has  confidence  in  me.  Be- 
sides, Calyste  is  our  child,  our  pupil,  —  he  will  never 
let  the  devil  inveigle  him;  neither  will  he  trouble 
the  peace  of  his  family  or  destroy  the  plans  we  have 
made  for  his  future.  Therefore,  don't  weep;  all  is 
not  lost,  madame;  one  fault  is  not  vice." 

**You  are  only  informing  me  of  details,"  said  the 
baroness.  "Was  not  I  the  first  to  notice  the  change 
in  my  Calyste?  A  mother  keenly  feels  the  shock  of 
finding  herself  second  in  the  heart  of  her  son.  She 
(•:umot  be  deceived.  This  crisis  in  a  man's  life  is 
one  of  the  trials  of  motherhood.  I  have  prepared  my- 
self for  it,  but  I  did  not  think  it  would  come  so  soon. 
I  hoped,  at  least,  that  Calyste  would  take  into  his 
heart  some  noble  and  beautiful  being,  —  not  a  stage- 
player,  a  masquerader,  a  theatre  woman,  an  author 
whose  business  it  is  to  feign  sentiments,  a  creature 
who  will  deceive  him  and  make  him  unhappy!  She 
has  had  adventures  —  " 

"With  several  men,"  said  the  rector.  "And  yet 
this  impious  creature  was  born  in  Brittany!  She 
dishonors  her  land.  I  shall  preach  a  sermon  upon 
lii!r  next  Sunday." 

"Don't  do  that!  "  cried  the  baroness.  "The  peas- 
ants and  the  paludiers  would  be  capable  of  rushing  to 
I.es  Touches.  Calyste  is  worthy  of  his  name;  he  is 
Breton;  some  dreadful  thing  might  happen  to  him,  for 
he  would  surely  defend  her  as  he  would  the  Blessed 
Virgin." 


60  Beatrix. 

''It  is  now  ten  o'clock;  I  must  bid  you  good-night,'* 
said  the  abbe,  lighting  the  wick  of  his  lantern,  the 
glass  of  which  was  clear  and  the  metal  shining,  which 
testified  to  the  care  his  housekeeper  bestowed  on  the 
household  property.  "Who  could  ever  have  told  me, 
madame,"  he  added,  "that  a  young  man  brought  up 
by  you,  trained  by  me  to  Christian  ideas,  a  fervent 
Catholic,  a  child  who  has  lived  as  a  lamb  without 
spot,  would  plunge  into  such  mire?" 

"But  is  it  certain?"  said  the  mother.  "How  could 
any  woman  help  loving  Calyste  ?  " 

"What  other  proof  is  needed  than  her  staying  on  at 
Les  Touches.  In  all  the  twenty-four  years  since  she 
came  of  age  she  has  never  stayed  there  so  long  as 
now;  her  visits  to  these  parts,  happily  for  us,  were 
few  and  short." 

"A  woman  over  forty  years  old!"  exclaimed  the 
baroness.  "I  have  heard  say  in  Ireland  that  a  woman 
of  this  description  is  the  most  dangerous  mistress  a 
young  man  can  have." 

"As  to  that,  I  have  no  knowledge,"  replied  the 
rector,  "and  I  shall  die  in  my  ignorance." 

"And  I,  too,  alas!  "  said  the  baroness,  naively.  "I 
wish  now  that  I  had  loved  with  love,  so  as  to  under- 
stand and  counsel  and  comfort  Calyste." 

The  rector  did  not  cross  the  clean  little  court-yard 
alone;  the  baroness  accompanied  him  to  the  gate, 
hoping  to  hear  Calyste' s  step  coming  through  the 
town.  But  she  heard  nothing  except  the  heavy  tread 
of  the  rector's  cautious  feet,  which  grew  fainter  in 
the  distance,  and  finally  ceased  when  the  closing  of 
the  door  of  the  parsonage  echoed  behind  him. 


Biatrix,  61 


V. 

CALYSTE. 

The  poor  mother  returned  to  the  salon  deeply  dis- 
tressed at  finding  that  the  whole  town  was  aware  of 
what  she  thought  was  known  to  her  alone.  She  sat 
down,  trimmed  the  wick  of  the  lamp  by  cutting  it 
with  a  pair  of  old  scissors,  took  up  once  more  the 
worsted-work  she  was  doing,  and  awaited  Calyste. 
The  baroness  fondly  hoped  to  induce  her  son  by  this 
means  to  come  home  earlier  and  spend  less  time  with 
Mademoiselle  des  Touches.  Such  calculations  of 
maternal  jealousy  were  wasted.  Day  after  day, 
Calyste' s  visits  to  Les  Touches  became  more  fre- 
quent, and  every  night  he  came  in  later.  The  night 
before  the  day  of  which  we  speak  it  was  midnight 
when  he  returned. 

The  baroness,  lost  in  maternal  meditation,  was  set- 
ting her  stitches  with  the  rapidity  of  one  absorbed  in 
thought  while  engaged  in  manual  labor.  Whoever 
had  seen  her  bending  to  the  light  of  the  lamp  beneath 
the  quadruply  centennial  hangings  of  that  ancient 
room  would  have  admired  the  sublimity  of  the  pic- 
ture. Fanny's  skin  was  so  transparent  that  it  was 
possible  to  read  the  thoughts  that  crossed  her  brow 
beneath  it.  Piqued  with  a  curiosity  that  often  comes 
to  a   pure  woman,   slie  asked   herself   what  devilish 


62  ^  Beatrix. 

secrets  these  daughters  of  Baal  possessed  to  so  charm 
men  as  to  make  them  forgetful  of  mother,  family," 
country,  and  self-interests.  Sometimes  she  longed  to 
meet  this  woman  and  judge  her  soberly  for  herself. 
Her  mind  measured  to  its  full  extent  the  evils  which 
the  innovating  spirit  of  the  age  —  described  to  her  as 
so  dangerous  for  young  souls  by  the  rector  —  would 
have  upon  her  only  child,  until  then  so  guileless ;  as 
pure  as  an  innocent  girl,  and  beautiful  with  the  same 
fresh  beauty. 

Calyste,  that  splendid  offspring  of  the  oldest  Breton 
race  and  the  noblest  Irish  blood,  had  been  nurtured  by 
his  mother  with  the  utmost  care.  Until  the  moment 
when  the  baroness  made  over  the  training  of  him  to 
the  rector  of  Guerande,  she  was  certain  that  no  impure 
word,  no  evil  thought  had  sullied  the  ears  or  entered 
the  mind  of  her  precious  son.  After  nursing  him  at 
her  bosom,  giving  him  her  own  life  twice,  as  it  were, 
after  guiding  his  footsteps  as  a  little  child,  the  mother 
had  put  him  with  all  his  virgin  innocence  into  the 
hands  of  the  pastor,  who^  out  of  true  reverence  for 
the  family,  had  promised  to  give  him  a  thorough  and 
Christian  education.  Calyste  thenceforth  received  the 
instruction  which  the  abbe  himself  had  received  at 
the  Seminary.  The  baroness  taught  him  English,  and 
a  teacher  of  mathematics  was  found,  not  without  diffi= 
culty,  among  the  employes  at  Saint-Nazaire.  Calyste 
was  therefore  necessarily  ignorant  of  modern  litera- 
ture, and  the  advance  and  present  progress  of  the 
sciences.  His  education  had  been  limited  to  geog- 
raphy and  the  circumspect  history  of  a  young  ladies* 
boarding-school,  the  Latin  and  Greek  of  seminaries. 


Beatrix.  '  63 

the  literature  of  the  dead  languages,  and  to  a  very 
restricted  choice  of  French  writers.  When,  at  six- 
teen, he  began  what  the  Abbe  Grimont  called  his 
philosophy,  he  was  neither  more  nor  less  than  what  he 
was  when  Fanny  placed  him  in  the  abbe's  hands.  The 
Church  had  proved  as  maternal  as  the  mother.  With- 
out being  over-pious  or  ridiculous,  the  idolized  young 
lad  was  a  fervent  Catholic. 

For  this  son,  so  noble,  so  innocent,  the  baroness 
desired  to  provide  a  happy  life  in  obscurity.  She 
expected  to  inherit  some  property,  two  or  three  thou- 
sand pounds  sterling,  from  an  aunt.  This  sum,  joined 
to  the  small  present  fortune  of  the  Guenics,  might 
enable  her  to  find  a  wife  for  Calyste,  who  would  bring 
him  twelve  or  even  fifteen  thousand  francs  a  year. 
Charlotte  de  Kergarouet,  with  her  aunt's  fortune,  a 
rich  Irish  girl,  or  any  other  good  heiress  would  have 
suited  the  baroness,  who  seemed  indifferent  as  to 
choice.  She  was  ignorant  of  love,  having  never  known 
it,  and,  like  all  the  other  persons  grouped  about  her, 
she  saw  nothing  in  marriage  but  a  means  of  fortune. 
Passion  was  an  unknown  thing  to  these  Catholic  souls, 
these  old  people  exclusively  concerned  about  salva- 
tion, God,  the  king,  and  their  property.  No  one 
should  be  surprised,  therefore,  at  the  foreboding 
thoughts  which  accompanied  the  wounded  feelings  of 
the  mother,  who  lived  as  much  for  the  future  interests 
of  her  son  as  by  her  love  for  him.  If  the  young 
household  would  only  listen  to  wisdom,  she  thought, 
the  coming  generation  of  the  du  Gut^nics,  by  endur- 
ing privations,  and  saving,  as  people  do  save  in  the 
provinces,  would  be  able  to  buy  back  their  estates 


64  *  ■  Beatrix. 

and  recover,  in  the  end,  the  lustre  of  wealth.  The 
baroness  prayed  for  a  long  old  age  that  she  might  see 
the  dawn  of  this  prosperous  era.  Mademoiselle  du 
Guenic  had  understood  and  fully  adopted  this  hope 
which  Mademoiselle  des  Touches  now  threatened  to 
overthrow. 

The  baroness  heard  midnight  strike,  with  tears ;  her 
mind  conceived  of  many  horrors  during  the  next  hour, 
for  the  clock  struck  one,  and  Calyste  was  still  not 
at  home. 

'*Will  he  stay  there ?  "  she  thought.  ''It  would  be 
the  first  time.     Poor  child !  " 

At  that  moment  Calyste' s  step  resounded  in  the 
lane.  The  poor  mother,  in  whose  heart  rejoicing 
drove  out  anxiety,  flew  from  the  house  to  the  gate 
and  opened  it  for  her  boy. 

"Oh!  "  cried  Calyste,  in  a  grieved  voice,  "my  dar- 
ling mother,  why  did  you  sit  up  for  me?  I  have  a 
pass-key  and  the  tinder-box." 

"You  know  very  well,  my  child,  that  I  cannot  sleep 
when  you  are  out,"  she  said,  kissing  him. 

When  the  baroness  reached  the  salon,  she  looked  at 
her  son  to  discover,  if  possible,  from  the  expression 
of  his  face  the  events  of  the  evening.  But  he  caused 
her,  as  usual,  an  emotion  that  frequency  never  weak- 
ened, —  an  emotion  which  all  loving  mothers  feel  at 
sight  of  a  human  masterpiece  made  by  them;  this 
sentiment  blurs  their  sight  and  supersedes  all  others 
for  the  moment. 

Except  for  the  black  eyes,  full  of  energy  and  the 
heat  of  the  sun,  which  he  derived  from  his  father, 
Calyste  in  other  respects  resembled   his  mother;  he 


BSatrix.  65 

had  her  beautiful  golden  hair,  her  lovable  mouth,  the 
same  curving  fingers,  the  same  soft,  delicate,  and 
purely  white  skin.  Though  slightly  resembling  a  girl 
disguised  as  a  man,  his  physical  strength  was  hercu- 
lean. His  muscles  had  the  suppleness  and  vigor  of 
steel  springs,  and  the  singularity  of  his  black  eyes 
and  fair  complexion  was  by  no  means  without  charm. 
His  beard  had  not  yet  sprouted;  this  delay,  it  is  said, 
is  a  promise  of  longevity.  The  chevalier  was  dressed 
in  a  short  coat  of  black  velvet  like  that  of  his  mother's 
gown,  trimmed  with  silver  buttons,  a  blue  foulard 
necktie,  trousers  of  gray  jean,  and  a  becoming  pair 
of  gaiters.  His  white  brow  bore  the  signs  of  great 
fatigue,  caused,  to  an  observer's  eye,  by  the  weight  of 
painful  thoughts;  but  his  mother,  incapable  of  sup- 
posing that  troubles  could  wring  his  heart,  attributed 
his  evident  weariness  to  passing  excitement.  Calyste 
was  as  handsome  as  a  Greek  god,  and  handsome  with- 
out conceit;  in  the  first  place,  he  had  his  mother's 
beauty  constantly  before  him,  and  next,  he  cared 
very  little  for  personal  advantages  which  he  found 
useless. 

** Those  beautiful  pure  cheeks,"  thought  his  mother, 
*' where  the  rich  young  blood  is  flowing,  belong  to 
another  woman!  she  is  the  mistress  of  that  innocent 
brow!  Ah!  passion  will  lead  to  many  evils;  it  will 
tarnish  the  look  of  those  eyes,  moist  as  the  eyes  of 
an  infant!  '* 

This  bitter  thought  wrung  Fanny's  heart  and 
destroyed  her  pleasure. 

It  may  seem  strange  to  those  who  calculate  expenses 
tliat  in  a  family  of  six  persons  compelled  to  live  on 

5 


66  Beatrix, 

three  thousand  francs  a  year  the  son  should  have  a 
coat  and  the  mother  a  gown  of  velvet;  but  Fanny 
O'Brien  had  aunts  and  rich  relations  in  London  who 
recalled  themselves  to  her  remembrance  by  many 
presents.  Several  of  her  sisters,  married  to  great 
wealth,  took  enough  Interest  in  Calyste  to  wish  to 
find  him  an  heiress,  knowing  that  he,  like  Fanny  their 
exiled  favorite,  was  noble  and  handsome. 

''You  stayed  at  Les  Touches  later  than  you  did  last 
night,  my  dear  one,"  said  the  mother  at  last,  in  an 
agitated  tone. 

"Yes,  dear  mother,"  he  answered,  offering  no 
explanation. 

The  curtness  of  this  answer  brought  clouds  to  his 
mother's  brow,  and  she  resolved  to  postpone  the  ex- 
planation till  the  morrow.  When  mothers  admit  the 
anxieties  which  were  now  torturing  the  baroness,  they 
tremble  before  their  sons ;  they  feel  instinctively  the 
effect  of  the  great  emancipation  that  comes  with  love ; 
they  perceive  what  that  sentiment  is  about  to  take 
from  them ;  but  they  have,  at  the  same  time,  a  sense 
of  joy  in  knowing  that  their  sons  are  happy;  con- 
flicting feelings  battle  in  their  hearts.  Though  the 
result  may  be  the  development  of  their  sons  into 
superior  men,  true  mothers  do  not  like  this  forced 
abdication;  they  would  rather  keep  their  children 
small  and  still  requiring  protection.  Perhaps  that  is 
the  secret  of  their  predilection  for  feeble,  deformed, 
or  weak-minded  offspring. 

"You  are  tired,  dear  child;  go  to  bed,"  she  said, 
repressing  her  tears. 

A  mother  who  does  not  know  all  that  her  son  is 


Beatrix.  67 

doing  thinks  the  worst;  that  is,  if  a  mother  loves  as 
niiich  and  is  as  much  beloved  as  Fanny.  But  perhaps 
all  other  mothers  would  have  trembled  now  as  she 
(lid.  The  patient  care  of  twenty  years  might  be  ren- 
dered worthless.  This  human  masterpiece  of  virtuous 
and  noble  and  religious  education,  Calyste,  might  be 
destroyed;  the  happiness  of  his  life,  so  long  and 
carefully  prepared  for,  might  be  forever  ruined  by  this 
woman. 

The  next  day  Calyste  slept  till  mid-day,  for  his 
mother  would  not  have  him  wakened.  Mariotte  served 
the  spoiled  child's  breakfast  in  his  bed.  The  inflex- 
ible and  semi-conventual  rules  which  regulated  the 
hours  for  meals  yielded  to  the  caprices  of  the  cheva- 
lier. If  it  became  desirable  to  extract  from  Made- 
moiselle du  Guenic  her  array  of  keys  in  order  to 
obtain  some  necessary  article  of  food  outside  of  the 
meal  hours,  there  was  no  other  means  of  doing  it 
than  to  make  the  pretext  of  its  serving  some  fancy  of 
Calyste. 

About  one  o'clock  the  baron,  his  wife,  and  Made- 
moiselle were  seated  in  the  salon,  for  they  dined  at 
three  o'clock.  The  baroness  was  again  reading  the 
"Quotidienne"  to  her  husband,  who  was  always  more 
awake  before  the  dinner  hour.  As  she  finished  a 
paragraph  she  heard  the  steps  of  her  son  on  the  upper 
floor,  and  she  dropped  the  paper,  saying:  — 

''Calyste  must  be  going  to  dine  again  at  Les 
Touches;  he  has  dressed  himself." 

''He  amuses  himself,  the  dear  boy,"  said  the  old 
sister,  taking  a  silver  whistle  from  her  pocket  and . 
whistling  once. 


68  Beatrix. 

Mariotte  came  through  the  tower  and  appeared  at 
the  door  of  communication  which  was  hidden  by  a 
silken  curtain  like  the  other  doors  of  the  room. 

"What  is  it?  "  she  said;  ''anything  wanted?  " 

*' The  chevalier  dines  at  Les  Touches;  don't  cook 
the  fish." 

"But  we  are  not  sure  as  yet,"  said  the  baroness. 

"You  seem  annoyed,  sister;  I  know  it  by  the  tone 
of  your  voice." 

"Monsieur  Grimont  has  heard  some  very  grave 
charges  against  Mademoiselle  des  Touches,  who  for 
the  last  year  has  so  changed  our  dear  Calyste." 

"Changed  him,  how?  "  asked  the  baron. 

"He  reads  all  sorts  of  books." 

"Ah!  ah!  "  exclaimed  the  baron,  "  so  that 's  why  he 
has  given  up  hunting  and  riding." 

"Her  morals  are  very  reprehensible,  and  she  has 
taken  a  man's  name,"  added  Madame  du  Guenic. 

"A  war  name,  I  suppose,"  said  the  old  man.  "I 
was  called  'I'lntime,'  the  Comte  de  Fontaine  *  Grand- 
Jacques,'  the  Marquis  de  Montauran  the  'Gars.'  I 
was  the  friend  of  Ferdinand,  who  never  submitted, 
any  more  than  I  did.  Ah !  those  were  the  good  times ; 
people  shot  each  other,  but  what  of  that?  we  amused 
ourselves  all  the  same,  here  and  there." 

This  war  memory,  pushing  aside  paternal  anxiety, 
saddened  Fanny  for  a  moment.  The  rector's  revela- 
tions, the  want  of  confidence  shown  to  her  by  Calyste, 
had  kept  her  from  sleeping. 

"Suppose  Monsieur  le  chevalier  does  love  Made- 
moiselle des  Touches,  where 's  the  harm?"  said 
Mariotte.  "She  has  thirty  thousand  francs  a  year  and 
she  is  very  handsome." 


Biatrix,  69 

"What  is  that  you  say,  Mariotte?"  exclaimed  the 
old  baron.  *'A  Guenic  marry  a  des  Touches!  The 
des  Touches  were  not  even  grooms  in  the  days  when 
du  Guesclin  considered  our  alliance  a  signal  honor." 

"  A  woman  who  takes  a  man's  name,  ^  Camille 
Maupin!"  said  the  baroness. 

*'The  Maupins  are  an  old  family,"  said  the  baron; 
"they  bear:  gules,  three  —  "  He  stopped.  "But  she 
cannot  be  a  Maupin  and  a  des  Touches  both,"  he 
added. 

"She  is  called  Maupin  on  the  stage." 

"A  des  Touches  could  hardly  be  an  actress,"  said 
the  old  man.  "Really,  Fanny,  if  I  did  not  know  you, 
I  should  think  you  were  out  of  your  head." 

"She  writes  plays,  and  books,"  continued  the 
baroness. 

"Books?  "  said  the  baron,  looking  at  his  wife  with 
an  air  of  as  much  surprise  as  though  she  were  tell- 
ing of  a  miracle.  "I  have  heard  that  Mademoiselle 
Scud^ry  and  Madame  de  Sevigne  wrote  books,  but  it 
was  not  the  best  thing  they  did." 

"Are  you  going  to  dine  at  Les  Touches,  monsieur?  " 
said  Mariotte,  when  Calyste  entered. 

"Probably,"   replied  the  young  man. 

Mariotte  was  not  inquisitive;  she  was  part  of  the 
family ;  and  she  left  the  room  without  waiting  to  hear 
what  the  baroness  would  say  to  her  son. 

"Are  you  going  again  to  Les  Touches,  my  Calyste?  " 
The  baroness  emphasized  the  my.  "  Les  Touches  is 
not  a  respectable  or  decent  house.  Its  mistress 
leads  an  irregular  life;  she  will  corrupt  our  Calyste. 
Already  Camille  Maupin  has  made  him  read  many 


70  Beatrix. 

books;  she  has  had  adventures  —  You  knew  all 
that,  my  naughty  child,  and  you  never  said  one  word 
to  your  best  friends!  " 

"The  chevalier  is  discreet,"  said  his  father,  —  "a 
virtue  of  the  olden  time." 

"Too  discreet,"  said  the  jealous  mother,  observing 
the  red  flush  on  her  son's  forehead. 

"My  dear  mother,"  said  Calyste,  kneeling  down 
beside  the  baroness,  "  I  did  n't  think  it  necessary  to 
publish  my  defeat.  Mademoiselle  des  Touches,  or,  if 
you  choose  to  call  her  so,  Camille  Maupin,  rejected 
my  love  more  than  eighteen  months  ago,  during  her 
last  stay  at  Les  Touches.  She  laughed  at  me,  gently; 
saying  she  might  very  well  be  my  mother;  that  a 
woman  of  forty  committed  a  sort  of  crime  against 
nature  in  loving  a  minor,  and  that  she  herself  was 
incapable  of  such  depravity.  She  made  a  thousand 
little  jokes,  which  hurt  me  —  for  she  is  witty  as  an 
angel;  but  when  she  saw  me  weep  hot  tears  she 
tried  to  comfort  me,  and  offered  me  her  friendship  in 
the  noblest  manner.  She  has  more  heart  than  even 
talent;  she  is  as  generous  as  you  are  yourself.  I  am 
now  her  child.  On  her  return  here  lately,  hearing 
from  her  that  she  loves  another,  I  have  resigned  my- 
self. Do  not  repeat  the  calumnies  that  have  been  said 
of  her.  Camille  is  an  artist,  she  has  genius,  she  leads 
one  of  those  exceptional  existences  which  cannot  be 
judged  like  ordinary  lives." 

"My  child,"  said  the  religious  Fanny,  "nothing  can 
excuse  a  woman  for  not  conducting  herself  as  the 
Church  requires.  She  fails  in  her  duty  to  God  and 
to  society  by  abjuring  the  gentle  tenets  of  her  sex. 


Beatrix,  7 1 

A  woman  commits  a  sin  in  even  going  to  a  theatre; 
but  to  write  the  impieties  that  actors  repeat,  to  roam 
about  the  world,  first  with  an  enemy  to  the  Pope,  and 
then  with  a  musician,  ah !  Calyste,  you  can  never  per- 
suade me  that  such  actions  are  deeds  of  faith,  hope, 
or  charity.  Her  fortune  was  given  her  by  God  to  do 
good,  and  what  good  does  she  do  with  hers?  " 

Calyste  sprang  up  suddenly  and  looked  at  his 
mother. 

"Mother,'*  he  said,  "Camille  is  my  friend;  I  can- 
not hear  her  spoken  of  in  this  way ;  I  would  give  my 
very  life  for  her." 

*'Your  life!  "  said  the  baroness,  looking  at  her  son, 
with  startled  eyes.  "  Your  life  is  our  life,  the  life  of 
all  of  us." 

*'My  nephew  has  just  said  many  things  I  do  not 
understand,"  said  the  old  blind  woman,  turning  toward 
him.  ^' 

"Where  did  he  learn  them?  "  said  the  mother;  "at 
Les  Touches?'' 

"Yes,  my  darling  mother;  she  found  me  ignorant 
as  a  carp,  and  she  has  taught  me." 

"You  knew  the  essential  things  when  you  learned 
the  duties  taught  us  by  religion,"  replied  the  baroness. 
"Ah!  this  woman  is  fated  to  destroy  your  noble  and 
sacred  beliefs." 

The  old  maid  rose,  and  solemnly  stretched  forth  her 
hands  toward  her  brother,  who  was  dozing  in  his 
chair. 

"Calyste,"  she  said,  in  a  voice  that  came  from  her 
heart,  "your  father  has  never  opened  books,  he  speaks 
Breton,  he  fought  for  God  and  for  the  king.    Educated 


72  Beatrix. 

people  did  the  evil,  educated  noblemen  deserted  their 
land, — be  educated  if  you  choose!" 

So  saying,  she  sat  down  and  began  to  knit  with  a 
rapidity  which  betrayed  her  inward  emotion. 

''My  angel,"  said  the  mother,  weeping,  ''I  foresee 
some  evil  coming  down  upon  you  in  that  house." 

"Who  is  making  Fanny  weep?"  cried  the  old  man, 
waking  with  a  start  at  the  sound  of  his  wife's  voice. 
He  looked  round  upon  his  sister,  his  son,  and  the 
baroness.     ''What  is  the  matter?"  he  asked. 

"Nothing,  my  friend,"  replied  his  wife. 

"Mamma,"  said  Calyste,  whispering  in  his  mother's 
ear,  "it  is  impossible  for  me  to  explain  myself  just 
now ;  but  to-night  you  and  I  will  talk  of  this.  When 
you  know  all,  you  will  bless  Mademoiselle  des 
Touches." 

"Mothers  do  not  like  to  curse,"  replied  the  baroness. 
"I  could  not  curse  a  woman  who  truly  loved  my 
Calyste." 

The  young  man  bade  adieu  to  his  father  and  went 
out.  The  baron  and  his  wife  rose  to  see  him  pass 
through  the  court-yard,  open  the  gate,  and  disappear. 
The  baroness  did  not  again  take  up  the  newspaper; 
she  was  too  agitated.  In  this  tranquil,  untroubled 
life  such  a  discussion  was  the  equivalent  of  a  quar- 
rel in  other  homes.  Though  somewhat  calmed,  her 
motherly  uneasiness  was  not  dispersed.  Whither 
would  such  a  friendship,  which  might  claim  the  life 
of  Calyste  and  destroy  it,  lead  her  boy?  Bless  Made- 
moiselle des  Touches?  how  could  that  be?  These 
questions  were  as  momentous  to  her  simple  soul  as 
the  fury  of    revolutions    to   a   statesman.      Camille 


Beatrix.  73 

Maupin  was  Revolution  itself  in  that  calm  and  placid 
home. 

''I  fear  that  woman  will  ruin  him,"  she  said,  pick- 
ing up  the  paper. 

"My  dear  Faliny,"  said  the  old  baron,  with  a  jaunty 
air,  ''you  are  too  much  of  an  angel  to  understand  these 
things.  Mademoiselle  des  Touches  is,  they  say,  as 
black  as  a  crow,  as  strong  as  a  Turk,  and  forty  years 
old.  Our  dear  Calyste  was  certain  to  fall  in  love  with 
her.  Of  course  he  will  tell  certain  honorable  little 
lies  to  conceal  his  happiness.  Let  him  alone  to  amuse 
himself  with  his  first  illusions." 

''If  it  had  been  any  other  woman  — "  began  the 
baroness. 

"But,  my  dear  Fanny,  if  the  woman  were  a  saint 
she  would  not  accept  your  son."  The  baroness  again 
picked  up  the  paper.  "I  will  go  and  see  her  myself," 
added  the  baron,  "and  tell  you  all  about  her." 

This  speech  has  no  savor  at  the  present  moment. 
But  after  reading  the  biography  of  Camille  Maupin 
you  can  then  imagine  the  old  baron  entering  the  lists 
against  that  illustrious  woman. 


74  Beatrix. 


VI. 


BIOGRAPHY    OF   CAMILLE    MAUPIN. 

The  town  of  Guerande,  which  for  two  months  past 
had  seen  Calyste,  its  flower  and  pride,  going,  morning 
or  evening,  often  morning  and  evening,  to  Les  Touches, 
concluded  that  Mademoiselle  Felicite  des  Touches  was 
passionately  in  love  with  the  beautiful  youth,  and  that 
she  practised  upon  him  all  kinds  of  sorceries.  More 
than  one  young  girl  and  young  wife  asked  herself  by 
what  right  an  old  woman  exercised  so  absolute  an 
empire  over  that  angel.  When  Calyste  passed  along 
the  Grand'  Rue  to  the  Croisie  gate  many  a  regretful 
eye  was  fastened  on  him. 

It  now  becomes  necessary  to  explain  the  rumors 
which  hovered  about  the  person  whom  Calyste  was  on 
his  w^ay  to  see.  These  rumors,  swelled  by  Breton 
gossip,  envenomed  by  public  ignorance,  had  reached 
the  rector.  The  receiver  of  taxes,  the  juge  de  paix, 
the  head  of  the  Saint-Nazaire  custom-house  and  other 
lettered  persons  had  not  reassured  the  abbe  by  relat- 
ing to  him  the  strange  and  fantastic  life  of  the  female 
writer  who  concealed  herself  under  the  masculine  name 
of  Camille  Maupin.  She  did  not  as  yet  eat  little  chil- 
dren, nor  kill  her  slaves  like  Cleopatra,  nor  throw  men 
into  the  river  as  the  heroine  of  the  Tour  de  Nesle  was 
falsely  accused  of  doing;  but  to  the  Abbe  Grimont 


Beatrix.  75 

this  monstrous  creature,  a  cross  between  a  siren  and 
an  atheist,  was  an  immoral  combination  of  woman 
and  philosopher  who  violated  every  social  law  in- 
vented to  restrain  or  utilize  the  infirmities  of  woman- 
kind. 

Just  as  Clara  Gazul  is  the  female  pseudonym  of  a 
distinguished  male  writer,  George  Sand  the  masculine 
pseudonym  of  a  woman  of  genius,  so  Camille  Maupin 
was  the  mask  behind  which  was  long  hidden  a  charm- 
ing young  woman,  very  well-born,  a  Breton,  named 
Felicite  des  Touches,  the  person  who  was  now  causing 
such  lively  anxiety  to  the  Baronne  du  Guenic  and  the 
excellent  rector  of  Guerande.  The  Breton  des  Touches 
family  has  no  connection  with  the  family  of  the  same 
name  in  Touraine,  to  which  belongs  the  ambassador 
of  the  Regent,  even  more  famous  to-day  for  his 
writings  than  for  his  diplomatic  talents. 

Camille  Maupin,  one  of  the  few  celebrated  women 
of  the  nineteenth  century,  was  long  supposed  to  be  a 
man,  on  account  of  the  virility  of  her  first  writings. 
All  the  world  now  knows  the  two  volumes  of  plays, 
not  intended  for  representation  on  the  stage,  written 
after  the  manner  of  Shakespeare  or  Lopez  de  Vega, 
published  in  1822,  which  made  a  sort  of  literary  rev- 
olution when  the  great  question  of  the  classics  and 
the  romanticists  palpitated  on  all  sides,  —  in  the  news- 
papers, at  the  clubs,  at  the  Academy,  everywhere. 
Since  then,  Camille  Maupin  has  written  several  plays 
and  a  novel,  which  have  not  belied  the  success  obtained 
by  her  first  publication  —  now,  perhaps,  too  much  for- 
gotten. To  explain  by  what  net-work  of  circum- 
stances the  masculine  incarnation   of   a  young   girl 


76  Beatrix. 

was  brought  about,  why  Felicity  des  Touches  became 
a  man  and  an  author,  and  why,  more  fortunate  than 
Madame  de  Stael,  she  kept  her  freedom  and  was  thus 
more  excusable  for  her  celebrity,  would  be  to  satisfy 
many  curiosities  and  do  justice  to  one  of  those  abnor- 
mal beings  who  rise  in  humanity  like  monuments,  and 
whose  fame  is  promoted  by  its  rarity,  —  for  in  twenty 
centuries  we  can  count,  at  most,  twenty  famous  women. 
Therefore,  although  in  these  pages  she  stands  as  a  sec- 
ondary character,  in  consideration  of  the  fact  that  she 
plays  a  great  part  in  the  literary  history  of  our  epoch, 
and  that  her  influence  over  Calyste  was  great,  no  one, 
we  think,  will  regret  being  made  to  pause  before  that 
figure  rather  longer  than  modern  art  permits. 

Mademoiselle  Felicite  des  Touches  became  an  orphan 
in  1793.  Her  property  escaped  confiscation  by  reason 
of  the  deaths  of  her  father  and  brother.  The  first  was 
killed  on  the  10th  of  August,  at  the  threshold  of  the 
palace,  among  the  defenders  of  the  king,  near  whose 
person  his  rank  as  major  of  the  guards  of  the  gate 
had  placed  him.  Her  brother,  one  of  the  body-guard, 
was  massacred  at  Les  Carmes.  Mademoiselle  des 
Touches  was  two  years  old  when  her  mother  died, 
killed  by  grief,  a  few  days  after  this  second  catas- 
trophe. When  dying,  Madame  des  Touches  confided 
her  daughter  to  her  sister,  a  nun  of  Chelles.  Madame 
de  Faucombe,  the  nun,  prudently  took  the  orphan  to 
Faucombe,  a  good-sized  estate  near  Nantes,  belong- 
ing to  Madame  des  Touches,  and  there  she  settled 
with  the  little  girl  and  three  sisters  of  her  convent. 
The  populace  of  Nantes,  during  the  last  days  of  the 
Terror,  tore  down  the  chateau,   seized  the  nuns  and 


Beatrix,  77 

Mademoiselle  des  Touches,  and  threw  them  into  prison 
on  a  false  charge  of  receiving  emissaries  of  Pitt  and 
Coburg.  The  9th  Thermidor  released  them.  Felicite's 
aunt  died  of  fear.  Two  of  the  sisters  left  France, 
and  the  third  confided  the  little  girl  to  her  nearest 
relation,  Monsieur  de  Faucombe,  her  maternal  great- 
uncle,  who  lived  in  Nantes. 

Monsieur  de  Faucombe,  an  old  man  sixty  years  of 
age,  had  married  a  young  woman  to  whom  he  left  the 
management  of  his  affairs.  He  busied  himself  .in 
archaeology,  —  a  passion,  or  to  speak  more  correctly, 
one  of  those  manias  which  enable  old  men  to  fancy 
themselves  still  living.  The  education  of  his  ward  was 
therefore  left  to  chance.  Little  cared-for  by  her  uncle's 
wife,  a  young  woman  given  over  to  the  social  pleasures 
of  the  imperial  epoch,  Felicite  brought  herself  up  as  a 
boy.  She  kept  company  with  Monsieur  de  Faucombe 
in  his  library;  where  she  read  everything  it  pleased  her 
to  read.  She  thus  obtained  a  knowledge  of  life  in 
theory,  and  had  no  innocence  of  mind,  though  virgin 
personally.  Her  intellect  floated  on  the  impurities  of 
knowledge  while  her  heart  was  pure.  Her  learning 
became  extraordinary,  the  result  of  a  passion  for  read- 
ing, sustained  by  a  powerful  memory.  At  eighteen 
years  of  age  she  was  as  well-informed  on  all  topics 
as  a  young  man  entering  a  literary  career  has  need  to 
be  in  our  day.  Her  prodigious  reading  controlled 
her  passions  far  more  than  conventual  life  would  have 
done;  for  there  the  imaginations  of  young  girls  run 
riot.  A  brain  crammed  with  knowledge  that  was 
neither  digested  nor  classed  governed  the  heart  and 
soul  of  the  child.     This  depravity  of  the  intellect, 


78  Beatrix, 

without  action  upon  the  chastity  of  the  body,  would 
have  amazed  philosophers  and  observers,  had  any  one 
in  Nantes  even  suspected  the  powers  of  Mademoiselle 
des  Touches. 

The  result  of  all  this  was  in  a  contrary  direction  to 
the  cause.  Felicite  had  no  inclinations  toward  evil ; 
she  conceived  everything  by  thought,  but  abstained 
from  deed.  Old  Faucombe  was  enchanted  with  her, 
and  she  helped  him  in  his  work,  —  writing  three  of  his 
books,  which  the  worthy  old  gentleman  believed  were 
his  own;  for  his  spiritual  paternity  was  blind.  Such 
mental  labor,  not  agreeing  with  the  developments  of 
girlhood,  had  its  effect.  Felicite  fell  ill;  her  blood 
was  overheated,  and  her  chest  seemed  threatened  with 
inflammation.  The  doctors  ordered  horseback  exer- 
cise and  the  amusements  of  society.  Mademoiselle 
des  Touches  became,  in  consequence,  an  admirable 
horsewoman,  and  recovered  her  health  in  a  few 
months. 

At  the  age  of  eighteen  she  appeared  in  the  world, 
where  she  produced  so  great  a  sensation  that  no  one 
in  Nantes  called  her  anything  else  than  "the  beautiful 
Mademoiselle  des  Touches."  Led  to  enter  society 
by  one  of  the  imperishable  sentiments  in  the  heart  of 
a  woman,  however  superior  she  may  be,  the  worship 
she  inspired  found  her  cold  and  unresponsive.  Hurt 
by  her  aunt  and  her  cousins,  who  ridiculed  her  studies 
and  teased  her  about  her  unwillingness  for  society, 
which  they  attributed  to  a  lack  of  the  power  of  pleas- 
ing, Felicite  resolved  on  making  herself  coquettish, 
gay,  volatile,  —  a  woman,  in  short.  But  she  expected 
in  return  an  exchange  of  ideas,  seductions,  and  pleas- 


BSatrix.  79 

ures  in  harmony  with  the  elevation  of  her  own  mind 
and  the  extent  of  its  knowledge.  Instead  of  that,  she 
was  filled  with  disgust  for  the  commonplaces  of  conver- 
sation, the  silliness  of  gallantry;  and  more  especially 
was  she  shocked  by  the  supremacy  of  military  men, 
to  whom  society  made  obeisance  at  that  period.  She 
had,  not  unnaturally,  neglected  the  minor  accomplish- 
ments. Finding  herself  inferior  to  the  pretty  dolls 
who  played  on  the  piano  and  made  themselves  agree- 
able by  singing  ballads,  she  determined  to  be  a  musi- 
cian. Retiring  into  her  former  solitude  she  set  to 
work  resolvedly,  under  the  direction  of  the  best  mas- 
ter in  the  town.  She  was  rich,  and  she  sent  for 
Steibelt  when  the  time  came  to  perfect  herself.  The 
astonished  town  still  talks  of  this  princely  conduct. 
The  stay  of  that  master  cost  her  twelve  thousand 
francs.  Later,  when  she  went  to  Paris,  she  studied 
harmony  and  thorough-bass,  and  composed  the  music 
of  two  operas  which  have  had  great  success,  though 
the  public  has  never  been  admitted  to  the  secret  of 
their  authorship.  Ostensibly  these  operas  are  by 
Conti,  one  of  the  most  eminent  musicians  of  our  day ; 
but  this  circumstance  belongs  to  the  history  of  her 
heart,  and  will  be  mentioned  later  on. 

The  mediocrity  of  the  society  of  a  provincial  town 
wearied  her  so  excessively,  her  imagination  was  so 
filled  with  grandiose  ideas  that  although  she  returned 
to  the  salons  to  eclipse  other  women  once  more  by  her 
beauty,  and  enjoy  her  new  triumph  as  a  musician,  she 
again  deserted  them ;  and  having  proved  her  power  to 
her  cousins,  and  driven  two  lovers  to  despair,  she  re- 
turned to  her  books,  her  piano,  the  works  of  Beethoven, 


80  Beatrix, 

and  her  old  friend  Faucombe.  In  1812,  when  she  was 
twenty-one  years  of  age,  the  old  archaeologist  handed 
over  to  her  his  guardianship  accounts.  From  that 
year,  she  took  control  of  her  fortune,  which  consisted 
of  fifteen  thousand  francs  a  year,  derived  from  Les 
Touches,  the  property  of  her  father;  twelve  thousand 
a  year  from  Faucombe  (which,  however,  she  increased 
one-third  on  renewing  the  leases);  and  a  capital  of 
three  hundred  thousand  francs  laid  by  during  her 
minority  by  her  guardian. 

Felicite  acquired  from  her  experience  of  provincial 
life,  an  understanding  of  money,  and  that  strong  ten- 
dency to  administrative  wisdom  which  enables  the 
provinces  to  hold  their  own  under  the  ascensional  move- 
ment of  capital  toward  Paris.  She  drew  her  three 
hundred  thousand  francs  from  the  house  of  business 
where  her  guardian  had  placed  them,  and  invested 
them  on  the  Grand-livre  at  the  very  moment  of  the 
disasters  of  the  retreat  from  Moscow.  In  this  way, 
she  increased  her  income  by  thirty  thousand  francs. 
All  expenses  paid,  she  found  herself  with  fifty  thou- 
sand francs  a  year  to  invest.  At  twenty-one  years  of 
age  a  girl  with  such  force  of  will  is  the  equal  of  a 
man  of  thirty.  Her  mind  had  taken  a  wide  range; 
habits  of  criticism  enabled  her  to  judge  soberly  of 
men,  and  art,  and  things,  and  public  questions. 
Henceforth  she  resolved  to  leave  Nantes;  but  old 
Faucombe  falling  ill  with  his  last  illness,  she,  who 
had  been  both  wife  and  daughter  to  him,  remained  to 
nurse  him,  with  the  devotion  of  an  angel,  for  eighteen 
months,  closing  his  eyes  at  the  moment  when  Napo- 
leon was  struggling  with  all  Europe  on  the  corpse  of 


BUtrix,  81 

France.  Her  removal  to  Paris  was  therefore  still 
further  postponed  until  the  close  of  that  crisis. 

As  a  Royalist,  she  hastened  to  be  present  at  the 
return  of  the  Bourbons  to  Paris.  There  the  Grand- 
lieus,  to  whom  she  was  related,  received  her  as  their 
guest;  but  the  catastrophes  of  March  20  intervened, 
and  her  future  was  vague  and  uncertain.  She  was 
thus  enabled  to  see  with  her  own  eyes  that  last  image 
of  the  Empire,  and  behold  the  Grand  Army  when  it 
came  to  the  Champ  de  Mars,  as  to  a  Roman  circus, 
to  salute  its  Caesar  before  it  went  to  its  death  at 
Waterloo.  The  great  and  noble  soul  of  Fe'licite  was 
stirred  by  that  magic  spectacle.  The  political  com- 
motions, the  glamour  of  that  theatrical  play  of  three 
months  which  history  has  called  the  Hundred  Days, 
occupied  her  mind  and  preserved  her  from  all  personal 
emotions  in  the  midst  of  a  convulsion  which  dispersed 
the  royalist  society  among  whom  she  had  intended  to 
reside.  The  Grandlieus  followed  the  Bourbons  to 
Ghent,  leaving  their  house  to  Mademoiselle  des 
Touches.  Felicite,  who  did  not  choose  to  take  a  sub- 
ordinate position,  purchased  for  one  hundred  and 
thirty  thousand  francs  one  of  the  finest  houses  in  the 
rue  Mont  Blanc,  where  she  installed  herself  on  the 
return  of  the  Bourbons  in  1815.  The  garden  of  t^is 
house  is  to-day  worth  two  millions. 

Accustomed  to  control  her  own  life.  Felicity  soon 
familiarized  herself  with  ways  of  thought  and  action 
which  are  held  to  be  exclusively  the  province  of  man. 
In  181 G  she  was  twenty-five  years  old.  She  knew 
nothing  of  marriage;  her  conception  of  it  was  wholly 
that  of  thought;  she  judged  it  in  its  causes  instead  of 

6 


82  Beatrix. 

its  effects,  and  saw  only  its  objectionable  side.  Her 
superior  mind  refused  to  make  the  abdication  by  which 
a  married  woman  begins  tliat  life ;  she  keenly  felt  the 
value  of  independence,  and  was  conscious  of  disgust 
for  the  duties  of  maternity. 

It  is  necessary  to  give  these  details  to  explain  the 
anomalies  presented  by  the  life  of  Camille  Maupin. 
She  had  known  neither  father  nor  mother;  she  had 
been  her  own  mistress  from  childhood ;  her  guardian 
was  an  old  archaeologist.  Chance  had  flung  her  into 
the  regions  of  knowledge  and  of  imagination,  into  the 
world  of  literature,  instead  of  holding  her  within  the 
rigid  circle  defined  by  the  futile  education  given  to 
women,  and  by  maternal  instructions  as  to  dress, 
hypocritical  propriety,  and  the  hunting  graces  of  their 
sex.  Thus,  long  before  she  became  celebrated,  a 
glance  might  have  told  an  observer  that  she  had  never 
played  with  dolls. 

Toward  the  close  of  the  year  1817  Fe'licite  des 
Touches  began  to  perceive,  not  the  fading  of  her 
beauty,  but  the  beginning  of  a  certain  lassitude  of 
body.  She  saw  that  a  change  would  presently  take 
place  in  her  person  as  the  result  of  her  obstinate 
celibacy.  She  wanted  to  retain  her  youth  and  beauty, 
to  which  at  that  time  she  clung.  Science  warned  her 
of  the  sentence  pronounced  by  Nature  upon  all  her 
creations,  which  perish  as  much  by  the  misconception 
of  her  laws  as  by  the  abuse  of  them.  The  macerated 
face  of  her  aunt  returned  to  her  memory  and  made 
her  shudder.  Placed  between  marriage  and  love,  her 
desire  was  to  keep  her  freedom;  but  she  was  now  no 
longer  indifferent  to  homage  and  the  admiration  that 


Beatrix.  83 

surrounded  her.  She  was,  at  the  moment  when  this 
history  begins,  almost  exactly  what  she  was  in  1817. 
Eighteen  years  had  passed  over  her  head  and  respected 
it.  At  forty  she  might  have  thought  no  more  than 
twenty-five. 

Therefore  to  describe  her  in  1836  is  to  picture  her 
as  she  was  in  1817.  Women  who  know  the  conditions 
of  temperament  and  happiness  in  which  a  woman 
should  live  to  resist  the  ravages  of  time  will  under- 
stand how  and  why  Felicite  des  Touches  enjoyed  this 
great  privilege  as  they  study  a  portrait  for  which  were 
reserved  the  brightest  tints  of  Nature's  palette,  and 
the  richest  setting. 

Brittany  presents  a  curious  problem  to  be  solved 
in  the  predominance  of  dark  hair,  brown  eyes,  and 
swarthy  complexions  in  a  region  so  near  England  that 
the  atmospheric  effects  are  almost  identical.  Does 
this  problem  belong  to  the  great  question  of  races  ? 
to  hitherto  unobserved  physical  influences?  Science 
may  some  day  find  the  reason  of  this  peculiarity, 
which  ceases  in  the  adjoining  province  of  Normandy. 
Waiting  its  solution,  this  odd  fact  is  there  before 
our  eyes ;  fair  complexions  are  rare  in  Brittany,  where 
the  women's  eyes  are  as  black  and  lively  as  those  of 
Southern  women;  but  instead  of  possessing  the  tall 
figures  and  swaying  lines  of  Italy  and  Spain,  they 
are  usually  short,  close-knit,  well  set-up  and  firm, 
except  in  the  higher  classes  which  are  crossed  by  their 
alliances. 

Mademoiselle  des  Touches,  a  true  Breton,  is  of 
medium  height,  though  she  looks  taller  than  she  really 
is.     This  effect  is  produced  by  the  character  of  her 


84  Beatrix, 

face,  which  gives  height  to  her  form.  She  has  that 
skin,  olive  by  day  and  dazzling  by  candlelight,  which 
distinguishes  a  beautiful  Italian;  you  might,  if  you 
pleased,  call  it  animated  ivory.  The  light  glides 
along  a  skin  of  that  texture  as  on  a  polished  surface ; 
it  shines ;  a  violent  emotion  is  necessary  to  bring  the 
faintest  color  to  the  centre  of  the  cheeks,  where  it  dies 
away  almost  immediately.  This  peculiarity  gives  to 
her  face  the  calm  impassibility  of  the  savage.  The 
face,  more  long  than  oval,  resembles  that  of  some 
beautiful  Isis  in  the  Egyptian  bas-reliefs;  it  has  the 
purity  of  the  heads  of  sphinxes,  polished  by  the  fire 
of  the  desert,  kissed  by  a  Coptic  sun.  The  tones  of 
the  skin  are  in  harmony  with  the  faultless  modelling 
of  the  head.  The  black  and  abundant  hair  descends 
in  heavy  masses  beside  the  throat,  like  the  coif  of  the 
statues  at  Memphis,  and  carries  out  magnificently  the 
general  severity  of  form.  The  forehead  is  full,  broad, 
and  swelling  about  the  temples,  illuminated  by  sur- 
faces which  catch  the  light,  and  modelled  like  the 
brow  of  the  hunting  Diana,  a  powerful  and  determined 
brow,  silent  and  self-contained.  The  arch  of  the  eye- 
brows, vigorously  drawn,  surmounts  a  pair  of  eyes 
whose  flame  scintillates  at  times  like  that  of  a  fixed 
star.  The  white  of  the  eye  is  neither  bluish,  nor 
strewn  with  scarlet  threads,  nor  is  it  purely  white;  it 
has  the  texture  of  horn,  but  the  tone  is  warm.  The 
pupil  is  surrounded  by  an  orange  circle;  it  is  of 
bronze  set  in  gold,  but  vivid  gold  and  animated 
bronze.  This  pupil  has  depth;  it  is  not  underlaid, 
as  in  certain  eyes,  by  a  species  of  foil,  which  sends 
back  the  light  and  makes  such  eyes  resemble  those  of 


Beatrix,  85 

cats  or  tigers;  it  has  not  that  terrible  inflexibility 
which  makes  a  sensitive  person  shudder;  but  this 
depth  has  in  it  something  of  the  infinite,  just  as  the 
external  radiance  of  the  eyes  suggests  the  absolute. 
The  glance  of  an  observer  may  be  lost  in  that  soul, 
which  gathers  itself  up  and  retires  with  as  much 
rapidity  as  it  gushed  for  a  second  into  those  velvet 
eyes.  In  moments  of  passion  the  eyes  of  Camille  Mau- 
pin  are  sublime;  the  gold  of  her  glance  illuminates 
them  and  they  flame.  But  in  repose  they  are  dull; 
the  torpor  of  meditation  often  lends  them  an  appear- 
ance of  stupidity;^  in  like  manner,  when  the  glow  of 
the  soul  is  absent  the  lines  of  the  face  are  sad. 

The  lashes  of  the  eyelids  are  short,  but  thick  and 
black  as  the  tip  of  an  ermine's  tail;  the  eyelids  are 
brown  and  strewn  with  red  fibrils,  which  give  them 
grace  and  strength,  —  two  qualities  which  are  seldom 
united  in  a  woman.  The  circle  round  the  eyes  shows 
not  the  slightest  blemish  nor  the  smallest  wrinkle. 
There,  again,  we  find  the  granite  of  an  Egyptian  statue 
softened  by  the  ages.  But  the  line  of  the  cheek-bones, 
though  soft,  is  more  pronounced  than  in  other  women 
and  completes  the  character  of  strength  which  the 
face  expresses.  The  nose,  thin  and  straight,  parts 
into  two  oblique  nostrils,  passionately  dilated  at 
times,  and  showing  the  transparent  pink  of  their  deli- 
cate lining.  This  nose  is  an  admirable  continuation 
of  the  forehead,  with  which  it  blends  in  a  most  deli- 

1  George  Sand  says  of  herself,  in  "  L'Histoire  de  Ma  Vie,"  pub- 
lished long  after  the  above  was  written  :  "  The  habit  of  meditation 
gave  me  fair  bete  (a  stupid  air).  I  say  the  word  frankly,  for  all  my 
life  I  liave  been  told  this,  and  therefore  it  must  be  true."  —  Tr. 


86  Beatrix. 

cious  line.  It  is  perfectly  white  from  its  spring  to 
its  tip,  and  the  tip  is  endowed  with  a  sort  of  mobility 
which  does  marvels  if  Camille  is  indignant,  or  an^ry, 
or  rebellious.  There,  above  all,  as  Talma  once  re- 
marked, is  seen  depicted  the  anger  or  the  irony  of 
great  minds.  The  immobility  of  the  human  nostril 
indicates  a  certain  barrenness  of  soul;  never  did  the 
nose  of  a  miser  oscillate;  it  contracts  like  the  lips; 
he  locks  up  his  face  as  he  does  his  money. 

Camille's  mouth,  arching  at  the  corners,  is  of  a  vivid 
red;  blood  abounds  there,  and  supplies  the  living, 
thinking  oxide  which  gives  such  seduction  to  the  lips, 
reassuring  the  lover  whom  the  gravity  of  that  majes- 
tic face  may  have  dismayed.  The  upper  lip  is  thin, 
the  furrow  which  unites  it  with  the  nose  comes  low, 
giving  it  a  centre  curve  which  emphasizes  its  natural 
disdain.  Camille  has  little  to  do  to  express  anger. 
This  beautiful  lip  is  supported  by  the  strong  red 
breadth  of  its  lower  mate,  adorable  in  kindness,  swell- 
ing with  love,  a  lip  like  the  outer  petal  of  a  pome- 
granate such  as  Phidias  might  have  carved,  and  the 
color  of  which  it  has.  The  chin  is  firm  and  rather 
full;  but  it  expresses  resolution  and  fitly  ends  this 
profile,  royal  if  not  divine.  It  is  necessary  to  add 
that  the  upper  lip  beneath  the  nose  is  lightly  shaded 
by  a  chainning  down.  Nature  would  have  made  a 
blunder  had  she  not  cast  that  tender  mist  upon  the 
face.  The  ears  are  delicately  convoluted,  —  a  sign  of 
secret  refinement.  The  bust  is  large,  the  waist  slim 
and  sufficiently  rounded.  The  hips  are  not  promi- 
nent, but  very  graceful;  the  line  of  the  thighs  is 
magnificent,  recalling  Bacchus  rather  than  the  Venus 


BSatrix,  87 

Callipyge.  There  we  may  see  the  shadowy  line  of 
demarcation  which  separates  nearly  every  woman  of 
genius  from  her  sex ;  there  such  women  are  found  to 
have  a  certain  vague  similitude  to  man;  they  have 
neither  the  suppleness  nor  the  soft  abandonment  of 
those  whom  Nature  destines  for  maternity;  their 
gait  is  not  broken  by  faltering  motions.  This  obser- 
vation may  be  called  bi-lateral;  it  has  its  counterpart 
in  men,  whose  thighs  are  those  of  women  when  they 
are  sly,  cunning,  false,  and  cowardly.  Camille's 
neck,  instead  of  curving  inward  at  the  nape,  curves 
out  in  a  line  that  unites  the  head  to  the  shoulders 
without  sinuosity,  a  most  signal  characteristic  of 
force.  The  neck  itself  presents  at  certain  moments 
an  athletic  magnificence.  The  spring  of  the  arms 
from  the  shoulders,  superb  in  outline,  seems  to  be- 
long to  a  colossal  woman.  The  arms  are  vigorously 
modelled,  ending  in  wrists  of  English  delicacy  and 
charming  hands,  plump,  dimpled,  and  adorned  with 
rosy,  almond-shaped  nails ;  these  hands  are  of  a  white- 
ness which  reveals  that  the  body,  so  round,  so  firm,  so 
well  set-up,  is  of  another  complexion  altogether  than 
the  face.  The  firm,  cold  carriage  of  the  head  is  cor- 
rected by  the  mobility  of  the  lips,  their  changing 
expression,  and  the  artistic  play  of  the  nostrils. 

And  yet,  in  spite  of  all  these  promises  —  hidden, 
perhaps,  from  the  profane  —  the  calm  of  that  counte- 
nance has  something,  I  know  not  what,  that  is  vexa- 
tious. More  sad,  more  serious  than  gracious,  that 
face  is  marked  by  the  melancholy  of  constant  medi- 
tation. For  this  reason  INIademoiselle  des  Touches 
listens   more    than    she   talks.     She   startles    by   her 


88  Beatrix, 

silence  and  by  that  deep-reaching  glance  of  intense 
fixity.  No  educated  person  could  see  her  without 
thinking  of  Cleopatra,  that  dark  little  woman  who 
almost  changed  the  face  of  the  world.  But  in  Camille 
the  natural  animal  is  so  complete,  so  self-sufficing,  of 
a  nature  so  leonine,  that  a  man,  however  little  of  a 
Turk  he  may  be,  regrets  the  presence  of  so  great  a 
mind  in  such  a  body,  and  could  wish  that  she  were 
wholly  woman.  He  fears  to  find  the  strange  distor- 
tions of  an  abnormal  soul.  Do  not  cold  analysis  and 
matter-of-fact  theory  point  to  passions  in  such  a 
woman?  Does  she  judge,  and  not  feel?  Or,  phe- 
nomenon still  more  terrible,  does  she  not  feel  and 
judge  at  one  and  the  same  time?  Able  for  all  things 
through  her  brain,  ought  her  course  to  be  circumscribed 
by  the  limitations  of  other  women?  Has  that  intel- 
lectual strength  weakened  her  heart?  Has  she  no 
charm?  Can  she  descend  to  those  tender  nothings  by 
which  a  woman  occupies,  and  soothes  and  interests 
the  man  she  loves?  Will  she  not  cast  aside  a  senti- 
ment when  it  no  longer  responds  to  some  vision  of 
infinitude  which  she  grasps  and  contemplates  in  her 
soul?  Who  can  scale  the  heights  to  which  her  eyes 
have  risen?  Yes,  a  man  fears  to  find  in  such  a 
woman  something  unattainable,  unpossessable,  uncon- 
querable. The  woman  of  strong  mind  should  remain 
a  symbol;  as  a  reality  she  must  be  feared.  Camille 
Maupin  is  in  some  ways  the  living  image  of  Schiller's 
Isis,  seated  in  the  darkness  of  the  temple,  at  whose 
feet  her  priests  find  the  dead  bodies  of  the  daring  men 
who  have  consulted  her. 

The  adventures  of  her  life  declared  to  be  true  bv 


Biatrix.  89 

the  world,  and  which  Camille  has  never  disavowed, 
enforce  the  questions  suggested  by  her  personal  ap- 
pearance.    Perhaps  she  likes  those  calumnies. 

The  nature  of  her  beauty  has  not  been  without  its 
influence  on  her  fame;  it  has  served  it,  just  as  her 
fortune  and  position  have  maintained  her  in  society. 
If  a  sculptor  desires  to  make  a  statue  of  Brittany  let 
him  take  Mademoiselle  des  Touches  for  his  model. 
That  full-blooded,  powerful  temperament  is  the  only 
nature  capable  of  repelling  the  action  of  time.  The 
constant  nourishment  of  the  pulp,  so  to  speak,  of  that 
polished  skin  is  an  arm  given  to  women  by  Nature  to 
resist  the  invasion  of  wrinkles;  in  Camille's  case  it 
was  aided  by  the  calm  impassibility  of  her  features. 

In  1817  this  charming  young  woman  opened  her 
house  to  artists,  authors  of  renown,  learned  and  scien- 
tiiic  men,  and  publicists, —  a  society  toward  which  her 
tastes  led  her.  Her  salon  resembled  that  of  Baron 
Gerard,  where  men  of  rank  mingled  with  men  of  dis- 
tinction of  all  kinds,  and  the  elite  of  Parisian  women 
came.  The  parentage  of  Mademoiselle  des  Touches, 
and  her  fortune,  increased  by  that  of  her  aunt  the  nun, 
protected  her  in  the  attempt,  always  very  difficult  in 
Paris,  to  create  a  society.  Her  worldly  independence 
was  one  reason  of  her  success.  Various  ambitious 
mothers  indulged  the  hope  of  inducing  her  to  marry 
their  sons,  whose  fortunes  were  out  of  proportion  to 
the  age  of  their  escutcheons.  Several  peers  of  France, 
allured  by  the  prospect  of  eighty  thousand  francs  a 
year  and  a  house  magnificently  appointed,  took  their 
womenkind,  even  the  most  fastidious  and  intractable, 
to  visit  her.     The  diplomatic  world,  always  in  search 


90  Beatrix, 

of  amusements  of  the  intellect,  came  there  and  found 
enjoyment.  Thus  Mademoiselle  des  Touches,  sur- 
rounded by  so  many  forms  of  individual  interests, 
was  able  to  study  the  different  comedies  which  pas- 
sion, covetousness,  and  ambition  make  the  generality 
of  men  perform,  —  even  those  who  are  highest  in  the 
social  scale.  She  saw,  early  in  life,  the  world  as  it 
is;  and  she  was  fortunate  enough  not  to  fall  early 
into  absorbing  love,  which  warps  the  mind  and  facul- 
ties of  a  woman  and  prevents  her  from  judging 
soberly. 

Ordinarily  a  woman  feels,  enjoys,  and  judges,  suc- 
cessively ;  hence  three  distinct  ages,  the  last  of  which 
coincides  with  the  mournful  period  of  old  age.  In 
Mademoiselle  des  Touches  this  order  was  reversed. 
Her  youth  was  wrapped  in  the  snows  of  knowledge 
and  the  ice  of  reflection.  This  transposition  is,  in 
truth,  an  additional  explanation  of  the  strangeness 
of  her  life  and  the  nature  of  her  talent.  She  observed 
men  at  an  age  when  most  women  can  see  only  one 
man;  she  despised  what  other  women  admired;  she 
detected  falsehood  in  the  flatteries  they  accept  as 
truths ;  she  laughed  at  things  that  made  them  serious. 
This  contradiction  of  her  life  with  that  of  others  lasted 
long ;  but  it  came  to  a  terrible  end ;  she  was  destined 
to  find  in  her  soul  a  first  love,  young  and  fresh,  at  an 
age  when  women  are  summoned  by  Nature  to  renounce 
all  love. 

Meantime,  a  first  affair  in  which  she  was  involved 
has  always  remained  a  secret  from  the  world.  Felicite, 
like  other  women,  was  induced  to  believe  that  beauty 
of  body  was  that  of  soul.     She  fell   in  love  with  a 


Beatrix.  91 

face,  and  learned,  to  her  cost,  the  folly  of  a  man  of 
gallantry,  who  saw  nothing  in  her  but  a  mere  woman. 
It  was  some  time  before  she  recovered  from  the  dis- 
gust she  felt  at  this  episode.  Her  distress  was  per- 
ceived by  a  friend,  a  man,  who  consoled  her  without 
personal  after-thought,  or,  at  any  rate,  he  concealed 
any  such  motive  if  he  had  it.  In  him  Felicite  be- 
lieved she  found  the  heart  and  mind  which  were  lack- 
ing to  her  former  lover.  He  did,  in  truth,  possess 
one  of  the  most  original  minds  of  our  age.  He,  too, 
wrote  under  a  pseudonym,  and  his  first  publications 
were  those  of  an  adorer  of  Italy.  Travel  was  the  one 
form  of  education  which  Felicite  lacked.  A  man  of 
genius,  a  poet  and  a  critic,  he  took  Felicity  to  Italy 
in  order  to  make  known  to  her  that  country  of  all  Art. 
This  celebrated  man,  who  is  nameless,  may  be  re- 
garded as  the  master  and  maker  of  ''Camille  Maupin." 
He  brought  into  order  and  shape  the  vast  amount  of 
knowledge  already  acquired  by  Felicite;  increased  it 
by  study  of  the  masterpieces  with  which  Italy  teems; 
gave  her  the  frankness,  freedom,  and  grace,  epigram- 
matic, and  intense,  which  is  the  character  of  his  own 
talent  (always  rather  fanciful  as  to  form)  which 
Camille  Maupin  modified  by  delicacy  of  sentiment 
and  the  softer  terms  of  thought  that  are  natural  to  a 
woman.  He  also  roused  in  her  a  taste  for  German 
and  English  literature  and  made  her  learn  both  lan- 
guages while  travelling.  In  Rome,  in  1820,  Felicity 
was  deserted  for  an  Italian.  Without  that  misery  she 
might  never  have  been  celebrated.  Napoleon  called 
misfortune  the  midwife  of  genius.  This  event  filled 
Mademoiselle  des  Touches,  and  forever,  with  that  con- 


92  Beatrix. 

tempt  for  men  which  later  was  to  make  her  so  strong. 
Felicite  died,  Camille  Maupin  was  born. 

She  returned  to  Paris  with  Conti,  the  great  musi- 
cian, for  whom  she  wrote  the  librettos  of  two  operas. 
But  she  had  no  more  illusions,  and  she  became,  at 
heart,  unknown  to  the  world,  a  sort  of  female  Don 
Juan,  without  debts  and  without  conquests.  Encour- 
aged by  success,  she  published  the  two  volumes  of 
plays  which  at  once  placed  the  name  of  Camille 
Maupin  in  the  list  of  illustrious  anonymas.  Next, 
she  related  her  betrayed  and  deluded  love  in  a  short 
novel,  one  of  the  masterpieces  of  that  period.  This 
book,  of  a  dangerous  example,  was  classed  with 
"Adolphe,"a  dreadful  lamentation,  the  counterpart  of 
which  is  found  in  Camille 's  work.  The  true  secret  of 
her  literary  metamorphosis  and  pseudonym  has  never 
been  fully  understood.  Some  delicate  minds  have 
thought  it  lay  in  a  feminine  desire  to  escape  fame 
and  remain  obscure,  while  offering  a  man's  name  and 
work  to  criticism. 

In  spite  of  any  such  desire,  if  she  had  it,  her  celeb- 
rity increased  daily,  partly  through  the  influence  of 
her  salon,  partly  from  her  own  wit,  the  correctness  of 
her  judgments,  and  the  solid  worth  of  her  aq§uire- 
ments.  She  became  an  authority;  her  sayings  were 
quoted ;  she  could  no  longer  lay  aside  at  will  the  func- 
tions with  which  Parisian  society  invested  her.  She 
came  to  be  an  acknowledged  exception.  The  world 
bowed  before  the  genius  and  position  of  this  strange 
woman;  it  recognized  and  sanctioned  her  indepen- 
dence; women  admired  her  mind,  men  her  beauty. 
Iler  conduct  was  regulated  by  all  social  conventions. 


Beatrix.  93 

Her  friendships  seemed  purely  platonic.  There  was, 
moreover,  nothing  of  the  female  author  about  her. 
Mademoiselle  des  Touches  is  charming  as  a  woman 
of  the  world,  —  languid  when  she  pleases,  indolent, 
coquettish,  concerned  about  her  toilet,  pleased  with 
the  airy  nothings  so  seductive  to  women  and  to  poets. 
She  understands  very  well  that  after  Madame  de  Stael 
there  is  no  place  in  this  century  for  a  Sappho,  and 
that  Ninon  could  not  exist  in  Pairs  without  grands 
seigneurs  and  a  voluptuous  court.  She  is  the  Ninon 
of  the  intellect ;  she  adores  Art  and  artists ;  she  goes 
from  the  poet  to  the  musician,  from  the  sculptor  to 
the  prose-writer.  Her  heart  is  noble,  endowed  with  a 
generosity  that  makes  her  a  dupe ;  so  filled  is  she  with 
pity  for  sorrow,  —  filled  also  with  contempt  for  the 
prosperous.  She  has  lived  since  1830,  the  centre  of 
a  choice  circle,  surrounded  by  tried  friends  who  love 
her  tenderly  and  esteem  each  other.  Far  from  the 
noisy  fuss  of  Madame  de  Stael,  far  from  political 
strifes,  she  jokes  about  Camille  Maupin,  that  junior 
of  George  Sand  (whom  she  calls  her  brother  Cain), 
whose  recent  fame  has  now  eclipsed  her  own.  Made- 
moiselle des  Touches  admires  her  fortunate  rival  with 
angelic  composure,  feeling  no  jealousy  and  no  secret 
vexation. 

Until  the  period  when  this  history  begins,  she  had 
led  as  happy  a  life  as  a  woman  strong  enough  to 
l)rotect  herself  can  be  supposed  to  live.  From  1817 
to  1834  she  had  come  some  five  or  six  times  to  Les 
Touches.  Her  first  stay  was  after  her  first  disillusion 
in  1818.  The  house  was  uninhabitable,  and  she  sent 
her  man  of  business  to  Gudrande  and  took  a  lodging 


94  Beatrix, 

for  herself  in  the  village.  At  that  time  she  had  no 
suspicion  of  her  coming  fame;  she  was  sad,  she  saw 
no  one;  she,  wanted,  as  it  were,  to  contemplate  herself 
after  her  great  disaster.  She  wrote  to  Paris  to  have 
the  furniture  necessary  for  a  residence  at  Les  Touches 
sent  down  to  her.  It  came  by  a  vessel  to  Nantes, 
thence  by  small  boats  to  Croisic,  from  which  little 
place  it  was  transported,  not  without  difficulty,  over 
the  sands  to  Les  Touches.  Workmen  came  down 
from  Paris,  and  before  long  she  occupied  Les  Touches, 
which  pleased  her  immensely.  She  wanted  to  medi- 
tate over  the  events  of  her  life,  like  a  cloistered  nun. 

At  the  beginning  of  the  winter  she  returned  to 
Paris.  The  little  town  of  Guerande  was  by  this  time 
roused  to  diabolical  curiosity ;  its  whole  talk  was  of 
the  Asiatic  luxury  displayed  at  Les  Touches.  Her 
man  of  business  gave  orders  after  her  departure  that 
visitors  should  be  admitted  to  view  the  house.  They 
flocked  from  the  village  of  Batz,  from  Croisic,  and 
from  Savenay,  as  well  as  from  Guerande.  This  pub- 
lic curiosity  brought  in  an  enormous  sum  to  the  family 
of  the  porter  and  gardener,  not  less,  in  two  years, 
than  seventeen  francs. 

After  this,  Mademoiselle  des  Touches  did  not  revisit 
Les  Touches  for  two  years,  not  until  her  return  from 
Italy.  On  that  occasion  she  came  by  way  of  Croisic 
and  was  accompanied  by  Conti.  It  was  some  time 
before  Guerande  becan^e  aware  of  her  presence.  Her 
subsequent  apparitions  at  Les  Touches  excited  com- 
paratively little  interest.  Her  Parisian  fame  did  not 
precede  her;  her  man  of  business  alone  knew  the 
secret  of  her  writings  and  of  her  connection  with  the 


Beatrix.  95 

celebrity  of  Camille  Maupin.  But  ^,t  the  period  of 
which  we  are  now  writing  the  contagion  of  the  new 
ideas  had  made  some  progress  in  Guerande,  and  sev- 
eral persons  knew  of  the  dual  form  of  Mademoiselle 
des  Touches*  existence.  Letters  came  to  the  post- 
office,  directed  to  Camille  Maupin  at  Les  Touches. 
In  short,  the  veil  was  rent  away.  In  a  region  so 
essentially  Catholic,  archaic,  and  full  of  prejudice,  the 
singular  life  of  this  illustrious  woman  would  of  course 
cause  rumors,  some  of  which,  as  we  have  seen,  had 
reached  the  ears  of  the  Abb^  Grimont  and  alarmed 
him;  such  a  life  could  never  be  comprehended  in 
Guerande ;  in  fact,  to  every  mind,  it  seemed  unnatural 
and  improper. 

Felicite,  during  her  present  stay,  was  not  alone  at 
Les  Touches.  She  had  a  guest.  That  guest  was 
Claude  Vignon,  a  scornful  and  powerful  writer  who, 
though  doing  criticism  only,  has  found  means  to  give 
the  public  and  literature  the  impression  of  a  certain 
superiority.  Mademoiselle  des  Touches  had  received 
this  writer  for  the  last  seven  years,  as  she  had  so  many 
other  authors,  "journalists,  artists,  and  men  of  the 
world.  She  knew  his  nerveless  nature,  his  laziness, 
his  utter  penury,  his  indifference  and  disgust  for  all 
things,  and  yet  by  the  way  she  was  now  conducting 
herself  she  seemed  inclined  to  marry  him.  She  ex- 
plained her  conduct,  incomprehensible  to  her  friends, 
in  various  ways,  — by  ambition,  by  the  dread  she  felt 
of  a  lonely  old  age ;  she  wanted  to  confide  her  future 
to  a  superior  man,  to  whom  her  fortune  would  be  a 
Htepping-stone,  and  thus  increase  her  own  importance 
in  the  literary  world. 


k- 


96  Beatrix. 

With  these  apparent  intentions  she  had  brought 
Claude  Vignon  from  Paris  to  Les  Touches,  as  an  eagle 
bears  away  a  kid  in  its  talons, —  to  study  him,  and 
decide  upon  some  positive  course.  But,  in  truth, 
she  was  misleading  both  Calyste  and  Claude ;  she  was 
not  even  thinking  of  marriage ;  her  heart  was  in  the 
throes  of  the  most  violent  convulsion  that  could  agi- 
tate a  soul  as  strong  as  hers.  She  found  herself  the 
dupe  of  her  own  mind;  too  late  she  saw  life  lighted 
by  the  sun  of  love,  shining  as  love  shines  in  a  heart 
of  twenty. 

Let  us  now  see  Camille's  convent  where  this  was 
happening. 


Beatrix.  97 


VII. 


LES  TOUCHES. 

A  FEW  hundred  yards  from  Guerande  the  soil  of 
Brittany  comes  to  an  end ;  the  salt-marshes  and  the 
sandy  dunes  begin.  We  descend  into  a  desert  of  sand, 
which  the  sea  has  left  for  a  margin  between  herself  and 
earth,  by  a  rugged  road  through  a  ravine  that  has  never 
seen  a  carriage.  This  desert  contains  waste  tracts, 
ponds  of  unequal  size,  round  the  shores  of  which  the 
salt  is  made  on  muddy  banks,  and  a  little  arm  of  the 
sea  which  separates  the  mainland  from  the  island  of 
Croisic.  Geographically,  Croisic  is  really  a  peninsula ; 
but  as  it  holds  to  Brittany  only  by  the  beaches  which 
connect  it  with  the  village  of  Batz  (barren  quick- 
sands very  difficult  to  cross),  it  may  be  more  correct  to 
call  it  an  island. 

At  the  point  where  the  road  from  Croisic  to 
Guerande  turns  off  from  the  main  road  of  terra  firma^ 
stands  a  country-house,  surrounded  by  a  large  garden, 
icmarkable  for  its  trimmed  and  twisted  pine-trees, 
some  being  trained  to  the  shape  of  sun-shades,  others, 
stripped  of  their  branches,  showing  their  reddened 
trunks  in  spots  where  the  bark  has  peeled.  These 
trees,  victims  of  hurricanes,  growing  against  wind  and 
tide  (for  them  the  saying  is  literally  true),  prepare  the 
mind   for  the   strange   and   depressing  sight  of    the 

7 


98  Beatrix. 

marshes  and  the  dunes,  which  resemble  a  stiffened  ocean. 
The  house,  fairly  well  built  of  a  species  of  slaty  stone 
with  granite  courses,  has  no  architecture ;  it  presents  to 
the  eye  a  plain  wall  with  windows  at  regular  intervals. 
These  windows  have  small  leaded  panes  on  the  ground- 
floor  and  large  panes  on  the  upper  floor.  Above  are 
the  attics,  which  stretch  the  whole  length  of  an  enor- 
mously high  pointed  roof,  with  two  gables  and  two 
large  dormer  windows  on  each  side  of  it.  Under  the 
triangular  point  of  each  gable  a  circular  window  opens 
its  cyclopic  eye,  westerly  to  the  sea,  easterly  on 
Guerande.  One  facade  of  the  house  looks  on  the  road 
to  Guerande,  the  other  on  the  desert  at  the  end  of 
which  is  Croisic ;  beyond  that  little  town  is  the  open 
sea.  A  brook  escapes  through  an  opening  in  the  park 
wall  which  skirts  the  road  to  Croisic,  crosses  the  road, 
and  is  lost  in  the  sands  beyond  it. 

The  grayish  tones  of  the  house  harmonize  admirably 
with  the  scene  it  overlooks.  The  park  is  an  oasis  in 
the  surrounding  desert,  at  the  entrance  of  which  the 
traveller  comes  upon  a  mud-hut,  where  the  custom- 
house oflicials  lie  in  wait  for  him.  This  house  without 
land  (for  the  bulk  of  the  estate  is  really  in  Guerande) 
derives  an  income  from  the  marshes  and  a  few  outlying 
farms  of  over  ten  thousand  francs  a  year.  Such  is  the 
fief  of  Les  Touches,  from  which  the  Revolution  lopped 
its  feudal  rights.  The  paludiers,  however,  continue  to 
call  it  "the  chateau,"  and  they  would  still  say 
"  seigneur  "  if  the  fief  were  not  now  in  the  female  line. 
When  Felicite  set  about  restoring  Les  Touches,  she 
was  careful,  artist  that  she  is,  not  to  change  the  deso- 
late exterior  which  gives  the  look  of  a  prison  to  the 


Beatrix.  99 

isolated  structure.  The  sole  change  was  at  the  gate, 
which  she  enlivened  by  two  brick  columns  supporting  an 
arch,  beneath  which  carriages  pass  into  the  court-yard 
where  she  planted  trees. 

The  arrangement  of  the  ground-floor  is  that  of  nearly 
all  country  houses  built  a  hundred  years  ago.  It  was, 
evidently,  erected  on  the  ruins  of  some  old  castle 
formerly  perched  there.  A  large  panelled  entrance- 
hall  has  been  turned  by  Felicite  into  a  billiard-room ; 
from  it  opens  an  immense  salon  with  six  windows,  and 
the  dining-room.  Tiie  kitchen  communicates  with  the 
dining-room  through  an  office.  Camille  has  displayed 
a  noble  simplicity  in  the  arrangement  of  this  floor, 
carefully  avoiding  all  splendid  decoration.  The  salon, 
painted  gray,  is  furnished  in  old  mahogany  with  green 
silk  coverings.  The  furniture  of  the  dining-room 
comprises  four  great  buffets,  also  of  mahogany,  chairs 
covered  with  horsehair,  and  superb  engravings  by 
Audran  in  mahogany  frames.  The  old  staircase,  of 
wood  with  heavy  balusters,  is  covered  all  over  with 
a  green  carpet. 

On  the  floor  above  are  two  suites  of  rooms  separated 
by  the  staircase.  Mademoiselle  des  Touches  has  taken 
for  herself  the  one  that  looks  toward  the  sea  and  the 
marshes,  and  arranged  it  with  a  small  salon,  a  large 
chamber,  and  two  cabinets,  one  for  a  dressing  room,  the 
other  for  a  study  and  writing-room.  The  other  suite, 
she  has  made  into  two  separate  apartments  for  guests, 
each  with  a  bedroom,  an  antechamber,  and  a  cabinet. 
The  servants  have  rooms  in  the  attic.  The  rooms  for 
guests  are  furnished  with  what  is  strictly  necessary, 
and  no  more.     A  certain   fantastic   luxury  has  been 


100  Beatrix. 

reserved  for  her  own  apartment.  In  that  sombre  and 
melancholy  habitation,  looking  out  upon  the  sombre 
and  melancholy  landscape,  she  wanted  the  most  fantas- 
tic creations  of  art  that  she  could  find.  The  little  salon 
is  hung  with  Gobelin  tapestry,  framed  in  marvellously 
carved  oak.  The  windows  are  draped  with  the  heavy 
silken  hangings  of  a  past  age,  a  brocade  shot  with 
crimson  and  gold  against  green  and  yellow,  gathered 
into  mighty  pleats  and  trimmed  with  fringes  and  cords 
and  tassels  worthy  of  a  church.  This  salon  contains  a 
chest  or  cabinet,  worth  in  these  days  seven  or  eight 
thousand  francs,  a  carved  ebony  table,  a  secretary 
with  many  drawers,  Inlaid  with  arabesques  of  ivory  and 
bought  in  Venice,  with  other  noble  Gothic  furniture. 
Here  too  are  pictures  and  articles  of  choice  workman- 
ship bought  in  1818,  at  a  time  when  no  one  suspected 
the  ultimate  value  of  such  treasures.  Her  bedroom  is 
of  the  period  of  Louis  XV.  and  strictly  exact  to  it. 
Here  we  see  the  carved  wooden  bedstead  painted 
white,  with  the  arched  head-board  surmounted  by 
Cupids  scattering  flowers,  and  the  canopy  above  it 
adorned  with  plumes ;  the  hangings  of  blue  silk ;  the 
Pompadour  dressing-table  with  its  laces  and  mirror ; 
together  with  bits  of  furniture  of  singular  shape,  —  a 
''  duchesse,"  a  chaise-longue,  a  stiff  little  sofa,  — with 
window-curtains  of  silk,  like  that  of  the  furniture, 
lined  with  pink  satin,  and  caught  back  with  silken 
ropes,  and  a  carpet  of  Savonnerie;  in  short,  we  find 
here  all  those  elegant,  rich,  sumptuous,  and  dainty 
things  in  the  midst  of  which  the  women  of  the  eigh- 
teenth century  lived  and  made  love. 

The  study,  entirely  of  the  present  day,  presents,  in 


Beatrix,  101 

contrast  with  the  Louis  XV.  gallantrieR;,  «  chAtfi^Ji^g^ 
collection  of  mahogany  furniture;  it  te^en^bles  d, 
boudoir ;  the  bookshelves  are  full,  but  the  fascinating 
trivialities  of  a  woman's  existence  encumber  it ;  in  the 
midst  of  which  an  inquisitive  eye  perceives  with  uneasy 
surprise  pistols,  a  narghile,  a  riding-whip,  a  hammock,  a 
rifle,  a  man's  blouse,  tobacco,  pipes,  a  knapsack,  —  a 
bizarre  combination  which  paints  Felicite. 

Every  great  soul,  entering  that  room,  would  be 
struck  with  the  peculiar  beauty  of  the  landscape 
which  spreads  its  broad  savanna  beyond  the  park,  the 
last  vegetation  on  the  continent.  The  melancholy 
squares  of  water,  divided  by  little  paths  of  white  salt 
crust,  along  which  the  salt-makers  pass  (dressed  in 
white)  to  rake  up  and  gather  the  salt  into  mulons ;  a 
space  which  the  saline  exhalations  prevent  all  birds 
from  crossing,  stifling  thus  the  efforts  of  botanic 
nature ;  those  sands  where  the  eye  is  soothed  only  by 
one  little  hardy  persistent  plant  bearing  rosy  flowers 
and  the  Chartreux  pansy ;  that  lake  of  salt  water,  the 
sandy  dunes,  the  view  of  Croisic,  a  miniature  town 
afloat  like  Venice  on  the  sea ;  and,  finally  the  mighty 
ocean  tossing  its  foaming  fringe  upon  the  granite  rocks 
as  if  the  better  to  bring  out  their  wierd  formations  —  that 
sight  uplifts  the  mind  although  it  saddens  it ;  an  effect 
produced  at  last  by  all  that  is  sublime,  creating  a  re- 
gretful yearning  for  things  unknown  and  yet  perceived 
by  the  soul  on  far-off  heights.  These  wild  and  savage 
harmonies  are  for  great  spirits  and  great  sorrows 
only. 

This  desert  scene,  where  at  times  the  sun  rays, 
reflected   by  the  water,   by  the  sands,  whitened   the 


102  Beatrix, 

yillage  of  Batz  and  rippled  on  the  roofs  of  Croisic 
with  pitiless  brilliancy,  filled  Camille's  dreaming  mind 
for  days  together.  She  seldom  looked  to  the  cool, 
refreshing  scenes,  the  groves,  the  flowery  meadows 
around  Guerande.  Her  soul  was  struggling  to  endure 
a  horrible  inward  anguish.^ 

No  sooner  did  Calyste  see  the  vanes  of  the  two 
gables  shooting  up  beyond  the  furze  of  the  roadside 
and  the  distorted  heads  of  the  pines,  than  the  air 
seemed  lighter;  Guerande  was  a  prison  to  him;  his 
life  was  at  Les  Touches.  Who  will  not  understand 
the  attraction  it  presented  to  a  youth  in  his  position. 
A  love  like  that  of  Cherubin,  had  flung  him  at  the 
feet  of  a  person  who  was  a  great  and  grand  thing  to 
him  before  he  thought  of  her  as  a  woman,  and  it  had 
survived  the  repeated  and  inexplicable  refusals  of 
Felicite.  This  sentiment,  which  w^as  more  the  need 
of  loving  than  love  itself,  had  not  escaped  the  terrible 
power  of  Camille  for  analysis;  hence,  possibly,  her 
rejection, —  a  generosity  unperceived,  of  course,  by 
Calyste. 

At  Les  Touches  were  displayed  to  the  ravished  eyes 
of  the  ignorant  young  countryman,  the  riches  of  a 
new  world;  he  heard,  as  it  were,  another  language, 
hitherto  unknown  to  him  and  sonorous.  He  listened 
to  the  poetic  sounds  of  the  finest  music,  that  surpass- 
ing music  of  the  nineteenth  century,  in  which  melody 
and  harmony  blend  or  struggle  on  equal  terms, —  a 
music  in  which  song  and  instrumentation  have  reached 
a  hitherto  unknown  perfection.  He  saw  before  his 
eyes  the  works  of  modern  painters,  those  of  the  French 
school,  to-day  the  heir  of  Italy,  Spain,  and  Flanders, 


Beatrix.  103 

in  which  talent  has  become  so  common  that  hearts, 
weary  of  talent,  are  calling  aloud  for  genius.  He 
read  there  those  works  of  imagination,  those  amazing 
creations  of  modern  literature  which  produced  their 
full  effect  upon  his  unused  heart.  In  short,  the  great 
Nineteenth  Century  appeared  to  him,  in  all  its  collec- 
tive magnificence,  its  criticising  spirit,  its  desires  for 
renovation  in  all  directions,  and  its  vast  efforts,  nearly 
all  of  them  on  the  scale  of  the  giant  who  cradled  the 
infancy  of  the  century  in  his  banners  and  sang  to  it 
hymns  with  a  lullaby  of  cannon. 

Initiated  by  Felicite  into  the  grandeur  of  all  these 
things,  which  may,  perhaps,  escape  the  eyes  of  those 
who  work  them,  Calyste  gratified  at  Les  Touches  the 
taste  for  the  glorious,  powerful  at  his  age,  and  that 
artless  admiration,  the  first  love  of  adolescence,  which 
is  always  irritated  by  criticism.  It  is  so  natural  that 
flame  should  rise!  He  listened  to  that  charming 
Parisian  raillery,  that  graceful  satire  which  revealed 
to  him  French  wit  and  the  qualities  of  the  French 
mind,  and  awakened  in  him  a  thousand  ideas,  which 
might  have  slumbered  forever  in  the  soft  torpor  of  his 
family  life.  For  him.  Mademoiselle  des  Touches  was 
the  mother  of  his  intellect.  She  was  so  kind  to  him; 
a  woman  is  always  adorable  to  a  man  in  whom  she 
inspires  love,  even  when  she  seems  not  to  share  it. 

At  the  present  time  Felicite  was  giving  him  music- 
lessons.  To  him  the  grand  apartments  on  the  lower 
floor,  and  her  private  rooms  above,  so  coquettish,  so 
artistic,  were  vivified,  were  animated  by  a  light,  a 
spirit,  a  supernatural  atmosphere,  strange  and  unde- 
finable.     The  modern  world  with  its  poesy  was  sharply 


104  Beatrix, 

coDtrasted  with  the  dull  and  patriarchal  world  of 
Guerande,  in  the  two  systems  brought  face  to  face 
before  him.  On  one  side  all  the  thousand  develop- 
ments of  Art,  on  the  other  the  sameness  of  uncivilized 
Brittany.  No  one  will  therefore  ask  why  the  poor  lad, 
bored  like  his  mother  with  the  pleasures  of  mouche^ 
quivered  as  he  approached  the  house,  and  rang  the 
bell,  and  crossed  the  court-yard.  Such  emotions,  we 
may  remark,  do  not  assail  a  mature  man,  trained  to 
the  ups  and  downs  of  life,  whom  nothing  surprises, 
being  prepared  for  all. 

As  the  door  opened,  Calyste,  hearing  the  sound  of 
the  piano,  supposed  that  Camille  was  in  the  salon ; 
but  when  he  entered  the  billiard-hall  he  no  longer 
heard  it.  Camille,  he  thought,  must  be  playing  on  a 
small  upright  piano  brought  by  Conti  from  England 
and  placed  by  her  in  her  own  little  salon.  He 
began  to  run  up  the  stairs,  where  the  thick  carpet 
smothered  the  sound  of  his  steps ;  but  he  went  more 
slowly  as  he  neared  the  top,  perceiving  something 
unusual  and  extraordinary  about  the  music.  Felicite 
was  playing  for  herself  only;  she  was  communing 
with  her  own  being. 

Instead  of  entering  the  room,  the  young  man  sat 
down  upon  a  Gothic  seat  covered  with  green  velvet, 
which  stood  on  the  landing  beneath  a  window  artisti- 
cally framed  in  carved  woods  stained  and  varnished. 
Nothing  was  ever  more  mysteriously  melancholy  than 
Camille's  improvisation;  it  seemed  like  the  cry  of  a 
soul  de  profundis  to  God  —  from  the  depths  of  a 
grave!  The  heart  of  the  young  lover  recognized  the 
cry  of  despairing  love,  the  prayer  of  a  hidden  plaint, 


BSatrix.  105 

the  groan  of  repressed  affliction.  Camille  had  varied, 
modified,  and  lengthened  the  introduction  to  the  cava- 
tina:  *'Mercy  for  thee,  mercy  for  me!  "  which  is  nearly 
the  whole  of  the  fourth  act  of  '^  Robert  le  Diable." 
She  now  suddenly  sang  the  words  in  a  heart-rending 
manner,  and  then  as  suddenly  interrupted  herself. 
Calyste  entered,  and  saw  the  reason.  Poor  Camille 
Maupin!  poor  Felicite!  She  turned  to  him  a  face 
bathed  with  tears,  took  out  her  handkerchief  and  dried 
them,  and  said,  simply,  without  affectation,  ''Good- 
morning.'*  She  was  beautiful  as  she  sat  there  in  her 
morning  gown.  On  her  head  was  one  of  those  red 
chenille  nets,  much  worn  in  those  days,  through  which 
the  coils  of  her  black  hair  shone,  escaping  here  and 
there.  A  short  upper  garment  made  like  a  Greek 
peplum  gave  to  view  a  pair  of  cambric  trousers  with 
embroidered  frills,  and  the  prettiest  of  Turkish  slip- 
pers, red  and  gold. 

''What  is  the  matter?"  cried  Calyste. 

"He  has  not  returned,"  she  replied,  going  to  a  win- 
dow and  looking  out  upon  the  sands,  the  sea  and  the 
marshes. 

This  answer  explained  all.  Camille  was  awaiting 
Claude  Vignon. 

"You  are  anxious  about  him?"  asked  Calyste. 

"Yes,"  she  answered  with  a  sadness  the  lad  was  too 
ignorant  to  analyze. 

He  started  to  leave  the  room. 

"Where  are  you  going?"  she  asked. 

"To  find  him,"  he  replied. 

"Dear  child! "  she  said,  taking  his  hand  and  draw- 
ing him  toward  her  with  one  of  those  moist  glances 


k 


106  Beatrix, 

which  are  to  a  youthful  soul  the  best  of  recompenses. 
''You  are  distracted!  Where  could  you  find  him  on 
that  wide  shore  ?  " 

"I  will  find  him." 

"Your  mother  would  be  in  mortal  terror.  Stay. 
Besides,  I  choose  it,"  she  said,  making  him  sit  down 
upon  the  sofa.  "Don't  pity  me.  The  tears  you  see 
are  the  tears  a  woman  likes  to  shed.  We  have  a 
faculty  that  is  not  in  man, —  that  of  abandoning  our- 
selves to  our  nervous  nature  and  driving  our  feelings 
to  an  extreme.  By  imagining  certain  situations  and 
encouraging  the  imagination  we  end  in  tears,  and 
sometimes  in  serious  states  of  illness  or  disorder. 
The  fancies  of  women  are  not  the  action  of  the  mind ; 
they  are  of  the  heart.  You  have  come  just  in  time; 
solitude  is  bad  for  me.  I  am  not  the  dupe  of  his 
professed  desire  to  go  to  Croisic  and  see  the  rocks 
and  the  dunes  and  the  salt-marshes  without  me.  He 
meant  to  leave  us  alone  together;  he  is  jealous,  or, 
rather,  he  pretends  jealousy,  and  you  are  young,  you 
are  handsome." 

"Why  not  have  told  me  this  before?  What  must  I 
do?  must  I  stay  away?"  asked  Calyste,  with  difficulty 
restraining  his  tears,  one  of  which  rolled  down  his 
cheek  and  touched  Felicite  deeply. 

"You  are  an  angel!"  she  cried.  Then  she  gayly 
sang  the  "Stay!  stay!"  of  Matilde  in  "Guillaume 
Tell,"  taking  all  gravity  from  that  magnificent  answer 
of  the  princess  to  her  subject.  "He  only  wants  to 
make  me  think  he  loves  me  better  than  he  really  does," 
she  said.  "He  knows  how  much  I  desire  his  happi- 
ness," she  went  on,   looking  attentively  at  Calyste. 


Beatrix.  107 

*' Perhaps  he  feels  humiliated  to  be  inferior  to  me 
there.  Perhaps  he  has  suspicions  about  you  and 
means  to  surprise  us.  But  even  if  his  only  crime  is 
to  take  his  pleasure  without  me,  and  not  to  associate 
me  with  the  ideas  this  new  place  gives  him,  is  not 
that  enough?  Ah!  I  am  no  more  loved  by  that  great 
brain  than  I  was  by  the  musician,  by  the  poet,  by  the 
soldier!  Sterne  is  right;  names  signify  much;  mine 
is  a  bitter  sarcasm.  I  shall  die  without  finding  in 
any  man  the  love  which  fills  my  heart,  the  poesy  that 
I  have  in  my  soul  —  " 

She  stopped,  her  arms  pendent,  her  head  lying 
back  on  the  cushions,  her  eyes,  stupid  with  thought, 
fixed  on  a  pattern  of  the  carpet.  The  pain  of  great 
minds  has  something  grandiose  and  imposing  about 
it;  it  reveals  a  vast  extent  of  soul  which  the  thought 
of  the  spectator  extends  still  farther.  Such  souls 
share  the  privileges  of  royalty  whose  affections  belong 
to  a  people  and  so  affect  a  world. 

'*Why  did  you  reject  my  —  "  said  Calyste;  but  he 
could  not  end  his  sentence.  Camille's  beautiful  hand 
laid  upon  his  eloquently  interrupted  him. 

*' Nature  changed  her  laws  in  granting  me  a  dozen 
years  of  youth  beyond  my  due,"  she  said.  "I  rejected 
your  love  from  egotism.  Sooner  or  later  the  differ- 
ence in  our  ages  must  have  parted  us.  T  am  thirteen 
years  older  than  he^  and  even  that  is  too  much." 

*'You  will  be  beautiful  at  sixty,"  cried  Calyste, 
heroically. 

"God  grant  it,"  she  answered,  smiling.  "Besides, 
dear  child,  I  ivant  to  love.  In  spite  of  his  cold  heart, 
his  lack  of  imagination,  his  cowardly  indifference,  and 


108  Beatr 


cX. 


the  envy  which  consumes  him,  I  believe  there  is 
greatness  behind  those  tatters ;  I  hope  to  galvanize 
that  heart,  to  save  him  from  himself,  to  attach  him 
tome.  Alas!  alas!  I  have  a  clear-seeing  mind,  but 
a  blind  heart." 

She  was  terrible  in  her  knowledge  of  herself.  She 
suffered  and  analyzed  her  sufferings  as  Cuvier  and 
Dapuytren  explained  to  friends  the  fatal  advance  of 
their  disease  and  the  progress  that  death  was  making 
in  their  bodies.  Camille  Maupin  knew  the  passion 
within  her  as  those  men  of  science  knew  their  own 
anatomy. 

"I  have  brought  him  here  to  judge  him,  and  he  is 
already  bored,"  she  continued.  "He  pines  for  Paris, 
I  tell  him;  the  nostalgia  of  criticism  is  on  him;  he 
has  no  author  to  pluck,  no  system  to  undermine,  no 
poet  to  drive  to  despair,  and  he  dares  not  commit 
some  debauch  in  this  house  which  might  lift  for  a 
moment  the  burden  of  his  ennui.  Alas  I  my  love  is 
not  real  enough,  perhaps,  to  soothe  his  brain;  I  don't 
intoxicate  him!  Make  him  drunk  at  dinner  to-night 
and  I  shall  know  if  I  am  right.  I  will  say  I  am  ill, 
and  stay  in  my  own  room." 

Calyste  turned  scarlet  from  his  neck  to  his  fore- 
head; even  his  ears  were  on  fire. 

"Oh  !  forgive  me,"  she  cried.  "How  can  I  heed- 
lessly deprave  your  girlish  innocence!  Forgive  me, 
Calyste  —  "  She  paused.  "  There  are  some  superb, 
consistent  natures  who  say  at  a  certain  age:  'If  1  had 
my  life  to  live  over  again,  I  would  do  the  same  things. ' 
I  who  do  not  think  myself  weak,  I  say,  'I  would 
be  a  woman   like   your  mother,   Calyste.'     To  have 


Beatrix.  109 

a  Calyste,  oh!  what  happiness!  I  could  be  a  humble 
and  submissive  woman  —  And  yet,  I  have  done  no 
harm  except  to  myself.  But  alas!  dear  child,  a 
woman  cannot  stand  alone  in  society  except  it  be  in 
what  is  called  a  primitive  state.  Affections  which 
are  not  in  harmony  with  social  or  with  natural  laws, 
affections  that  are  not  obligatory,  in  short,  escape  us. 
Suffering  for  suffering,  as  well  be  useful  where  we 
can.  What  care  I  for  those  children  of  my  cousin 
Faucombe?  I  have  not  seen  them  these  twenty  years, 
and  they  are  married  to  merchants.  You  are  my  son, 
who  have  never  cost  me  the  miseries  of  motherhood; 
I  shall  eave  you  my  fortune  and  make  you  happy  — 
at  least,  so  far  as  money  can  do  so,  dear  treasure 
of  beauty  and  grace  that  nothing  should  ever  change 
or  blast." 

**You  would  not  take  my  love,"  said  Calyste,  "and 
I  shall  return  your  fortune  to  your  heirs." 

'*Child!"  answered  Camille,  in  a  guttural  voice, 
letting  the  tears  roll  down  her  cheeks.  ''Will  noth- 
ing  save  me  from  myself?  "  she  added,  presently. 

''You  said  you  had  a  history  to  tell  me,  and  a  letter 
to  —  "  said  the  generous  youth,  wishing  to  divert  her 
thoughts  from  her  grief;  but  she  did  not  let  him 
finish. 

"You  are  right  to  remind  me  of  that.  I  will  be 
an  honest  woman  before  all  else.  I  will  sacrifice  no 
one  —  Yes,  it  was  too  late  yesterday,  but  to-day  we 
have  time,"  she  said,  in  a  cheerful  tone.  "I  will 
keep  my  promise;  and  while  I  tell  you  that  history 
I  will  sit  by  the  window  and  watch  the  road  to  the 
marshes." 


110  Beatrix. 

Calyste  arranged  a  great  Gothic  chair  for  her  near 
the  window,  and  opened  one  of  the  sashes.  Camille 
Maupin,  who  shared  the  oriental  taste  of  her  illus- 
trious sister-author,  took  a  magnificent  Persian  nar- 
ghile, given  to  her  by  an  ambassador.  She  filled  the 
nipple  with  patchouli,  cleaned  the  hochettino^  per- 
fumed the  goose- quill,  which  she  attached  to  the 
mouthpiece  and  used  only  once,  set  fire  to  the  yellow 
leaves,  placing  the  vase  with  its  long  neck  enamelled 
in  blue  and  gold  at  some  distance  from  her,  and 
rang  the  bell  for  tea. 

"Will  you  have  cigarettes? —  Ah!  I  am  always 
forgetting  that  you  do  not  smoke.  Purity  such  as 
yours  is  so  rare !  The  hand  of  Eve  herself,  fresh  from 
the  hand  of  her  Maker,  is  alone  innocent  enough  to 
stroke  your  cheek." 

Calyste  colored ;  sitting  down  on  a  stool  at  Camille's 
feet,  he  did  not  see  the  deep  emotion  that  seemed  for 
a  moment  to  overcome  her. 


Beatrix,  111 


VIII. 

LA   MARQUISE   BEATRIX. 

"  I  PROMISED  you  this  tale  of  the  past,  and  here  it 
is,"  said  Camilie:  ''The  person  from  whom  I  received 
that  letter  yesterday,  and  who  may  be  here  to-morrow, 
is  the  Marquise  de  Rochefide.  The  old  marquis 
(whose  family  is  not  as  old  as  yours),  after  marrying 
his  eldest  daughter  to  a  Portuguese  grandee,  was 
anxious  to  find  an  alliance  among  the  higher  nobility 
for  his  son,  in  order  to  obtain  for  him  the  peerage 
he  had  never  been  able  to  get  for  himself.  The 
Comtesse  de  Montcornet  told  him  of  a  young  lady 
in  the  department  of  the  Orne,  a  Mademoiselle 
Beatrix-Maximilienne-Rose  de  Casteran,  the  young- 
est daughter  of  the  Marquis  de  Casteran,  who 
wished  to  marry  his  two  daughters  without  dow- 
ries in  order  to  reserve  his  whole  fortune  for  the 
Comte  de  Casteran,  his  son.  The  Casterans  are, 
it  seems,  of  the  bluest  blood.  Beatrix,  born  and 
brought  up  at  the  chateau  de  Casteran,  was  twenty 
years  old  at  the  time  of  her  marriage  in  1828.  She 
was  remarkable  for  what  you  provincials  call  origi- 
nality, which  is  simply  independence  of  ideas,  enthu- 
siasm, a  feeling  for  the  beautiful,  and  a  certain  impulse 
and  ardor  toward  the  things  of  Art.  You  may  be- 
lieve a  poor  woman  who  has  allowed  herself  to   bo 


112  Beatrix. 

drawn  along  the  same  lines,  there  is  nothing  more 
dangerous  for  a  woman.  If  she  follows  them,  they 
lead  her  where  you  see  me,  and  where  the  marquise 
came,  —  to  the  verge  of  abysses.  Men  alone  have  the 
staff  on  which  to  lean  as  they  skirt  those  precipices,  — 
a  force  which  is  lacking  to  most  women,  but  which, 
if  we  do  possess  it,  makes  abnormal  beings  of  us. 
Her  old  grandmother,  the  dowager  de  Casteran,  was 
well  pleased  to  see  her  marry  a  man  to  whom  she  was 
superior  in  every  way.  The  Rochefides  were  equally 
satisfied  with  the  Casterans,  who  connected  them  with 
the  Verneuils,  the  d'Esgrignons,  the  Troisvilles,  and 
gave  them  a  peerage  for  their  son  in  that  last  big 
batch  of  peers  made  by  Charles  X,,  but  revoked  by  the 
revolution  of  July.  The  first  days  of  marriage  are 
perilous  for  little  minds  as  well  as  for  great  loves. 
Rochefide,  being  a  fool,  mistook  his  wife's  ignorance 
for  coldness ;  he  classed  her  among  frigid,  lymphatic 
women,  and  made  that  an  excuse  to  return  to  his 
bachelor  life,  relying  on  the  coldness  of  the  marquise, 
her  pride,  and  the  thousand  barriers  that  the  life  of  a 
great  lady  sets  up  about  a  woman  in  Paris.  You  'U 
know  what  I  mean  when  you  go  there.  People  said 
to  Rochefide :  '  You  are  very  lucky  to  possess  a  cold 
wife  who  will  never  have  any  but  head  passions.  She 
will  always  be  content  if  she  can  shine;  her  fancies 
are  purely  artistic,  her  desires  will  be  satisfied  if  she 
can  make  a  salon,  and  collect  about  her  distinguished 
minds ;  her  debauches  will  be  in  music  and  her  orgies 
literary.'  Rochefide,  however,  is  not  an  ordinary 
fool ;  he  has  as  much  conceit  and  vanity  as  a  clever 
man,  which  gives  him  a  mean  and  squinting  jealousy. 


Beatrix.  113 

brutal  when  it  comes  to  the  surface,  lurking  and 
cowardly  for  six  months,  and  murderous  the  seventh. 
He  thought  he  was  deceiving  his  wife,  and  yet  he 
feared  her,  —  two  causes  for  tyranny  when  the  day 
came  on  which  the  marquise  let  him  see  that  she  was 
charitably  assuming  indifference  to  his  unfaithfulness. 
I  analyze  all  this  in  order  to  explain  her  conduct. 
Beatrix  had  the  keenest  admiration  for  me;  there  is 
but  one  step,  however,  from  admiration  to  jealousy. 
I  have  one  of  the  most  remarkable  salons  in  Paris; 
she  wished  to  make  herself  another;  and  in  order  to 
do  so  she  attempted  to  draw  away  my  circle.  I  don't 
know  how  to  keep  those  who  wish  to  leave  me.  She 
obtained  the  superficial  people  who  are  friends  with 
every  one  from  mere  want  of  occupation,  and  whose 
object  is  to  get  out  of  a  salon  as  soon  as  they  have 
entered  it ;  but  she  did  not  have  time  to  make  herself 
a  real  society.  In  those  days  I  thought  her  consumed 
with  a  desire  for  celebrity  of  one  kind  or  another. 
Nevertheless,  she  has  really  much  grandeur  of  soul, 
a  regal  pride,  distinct  ideas,  and  a  marvellous  facility 
for  apprehending  and  understanding  all  things;  she 
can  talk  metaphysics  and  music,  theology  and  paint- 
ing. You  will  see  her,  as  a'mature  woman,  what  the 
rest  of  us  saw  her  as  a  bride.  And  yet  there  is 
something  of  affectation  about  her  in  all  this.  She 
has  too  much  the  air  of  knowing  abstruse  things,  — 
Chinese,  Hebrew,  hieroglyphics  perhaps,  or  the  papy- 
rus that  they  wrapped  round  mummies.  Personally, 
Btiatrix  is  one  of  those  blondes  beside  whom  Eve 
the  fair  would  seem  a  negress.  She  is  slender  and 
straight  and  white  as  a  church  taper ;  her  face  is  long 

8 


114  Beatrix, 

and  pointed;  the  skin  is  capricious,  to-day  like  cam- 
bric, to-morrow  darkened  with  little  speckles  beneath 
its  surface,  as  if  her  blood  had  left  a  deposit  of  dust 
there  during  the  night.     Her  forehead  is  magnificent, 
though  rather  daring.     The  pupils  of  her  eyes  are  pale 
sea-green,  floating  on  their  white  balls  under  thin  lashes 
and  lazy  eyelids.     Her  eyes  have  dark  rings  around 
them  often ;  her  nose,  which  describes  one-quarter  of 
a  circle,  is  pinched  about  the  nostrils;  very  shrewd 
and  clever,  but  supercilious.     She  has  an  Austrian 
mouth;  the   upper   lip  has  more   character  than   the 
lower,    which  drops   disdainfully.     Her  pale  cheeks 
have  no  color  unless  some  very  keen  emotion  moves 
her.     Her  chin  is  rather  fat;   mine  is  not  thin,  and 
perhaps  I  do  wrong  to  tell  you  that  women  with  fat 
chins  are  exacting  in  love.     She  has  one  of  the  most 
exquisite  waists  I  ever  saw;  the  shoulders  are  beauti- 
ful, but  the  bust  has  not  developed  as  well,  and  the 
arms  are  thin.     She  has,  however,  an  easy  carriage 
and  manner,  which  redeems  all  such  defects  and  sets 
her  beauties  in  full  relief.     Nature  has  given  her  that 
princess  air  which  can  never  be  acquired ;  it  becomes 
her,  and  reveals  at  sudden  moments  the  woman  of 
high  birth.     Without  being  faultlessly  beautiful,  or 
prettily  pretty,  she  produces,  when  she  chooses,  in- 
effaceable  impressions.     She  has   only  to  put  on  a 
gown  of  cherry  velvet  with  clouds  of  lace,  and  wreathe 
with  roses  that  angelic  hair  of  hers,  which  resembles 
floods  of  light,  and  she  becomes  divine.     If,  on  some 
excuse  or  other,  she  could  wear  the  costume  of  the 
time  when  women  ha(i  long,  pointed  bodices,  rising, 
slim  and  slender,   from  voluminous  brocaded  skirts 


Biatrix.  115 

with  folds  so  heavy  that  they  stood  alone,  and  could 
hide  her  arms  in  those  wadded  sleeves  with  ruffles, 
from  which  the  hand  comes  out  like  a  pistil  from  a 
calyx,  and  could  fling  back  the  curls  of  her  hair  into 
the  jewelled  knot  behind  her  head,  Beatrix  would  hold 
her  own  victoriously  with  ideal  beauties  like  that  —  " 

And  Felicite  showed  Calyste  a  fine  copy  of  a  pic- 
ture by  Mieris,  in  which  was  a  woman  robed  in  white 
satin,  standing  with  a  paper  in  her  hand,  and  singing 
with  a  Brabangon  seigneur,  while  a  negro  beside  them 
poured  golden  Spanish  wine  into  a  goblet,  and  the 
old  housekeeper  in  the  background  arranged  some 
biscuits. 

*'Fair  women,  blondes,"  said  Camille,  ''have  the 
advantage  over  us  poor  brown  things  of  a  precious 
diversity;  there  are  a  hundred  ways  for  a  blonde  to 
charm,  and  only  one  for  a  brunette.  Besides,  blondes 
are  more  womanly;  we  are  too  like  men,  we  French 
brunettes  —  Well,  well! "  she  cried,  "pray  don't  fall 
in  love  with  Beatrix  from  the  portrait  I  am  making 
of  her,  like  that  prince,  I  forget  his  name,  in  the 
Arabian  Nights.  You  would  be  too  late,  my  dear 
boy." 

These  words  were  said  pointedly.  The  admiration 
depicted  on  the  young  man's  face  was  more  for  the 
picture  than  for  the  painter  whose  faire  was  failing  of 
its  purpose.  As  she  spoke.  Felicity  was  employing 
all  the  resources  of  her  eloquent  physiognomy. 

"Blond  as  she  is,  however,"  she  went  on,  "Beatrix 
has  not  the  grace  of  her  color;  her  lines  are  severe; 
she  is  elegant,  but  hard ;  her  face  has  a  harsh  contour, 
though  at  times  it  reveals  a  soul  with  Southern  pas- 


116  Beatrix, 

sions;  an  angel  flashes  out  and  then  expires.  Her 
eyes  are  thirsty.  She  looks  best  when  seen  full  face; 
the  profile  has  an  air  of  being  squeezed  between  two 
doors.  You  will  see  if  1  am  mistaken.  I  will  tell 
you  now  what  made  us  intimate  friends.  For  three 
years,  from  1828  to  1831,  Beatrix,  while  enjoying  the 
last  fetes  of  the  Restoration,  making  the  round  of  the 
salons,  going  to  court,  taking  part  in  the  fancy-balls 
of  the  filysee-Bourbon,  was  all  the  while  judging  men, 
and  things,  events,  and  life  itself,  from  the  height  of 
her  own  thought.  Her  mind  was  busy.  These  first 
years  of  the  bewilderment  the  world  caused  her  pre- 
vented her  heart  from  waking  up.  From  1830  to  1831 
she  spent  the  time  of  the  revolutionary  disturbance  at 
her  husband's  country  place,  where  she  was  bored 
like  a  saint  in  paradise.  On  her  return  to  Pa'fis  she 
became  convinced,  perhaps  justly,  that  the  revo^tion 
of  July,  in  the  minds  of  some  persons  purely  political, 
would  prove  to  be  a  moral  revolution.  The  social 
class  to  which  she  belonged,  not  being  able,  during 
its  unhoped-for  triumph  in  the  fifteen  years  of  the 
Restoration  to  reconstruct  itself,  was  about  to  go 
to  pieces,  bit  by  bit,  under  the  battering-ram  of  the 
bourgeoisie.  She  heard  the  famous  words  of  Mon- 
sieur Laine:  'Kings  are  departing!  '  This  convic- 
tion, I  believe,  was  not  without  its  influence  on  her 
conduct.  She  took  an  intellectual  part  in  the  new 
doctrines,  which  swarmed,  during  the  three  years  suc- 
ceeding July,  1830,  like  gnats  in  the  sunshine,  and 
turned  some  female  heads.  But,  like  all  nobles, 
Beatrix,  while  thinking  these  novel  ideas  superb, 
wanted  always  to  protect  the  nobility.     Finding  be- 


Beatrix.  117 

fore  long  that  there  was  no  place  in  this  new  regime 
for  individual  superiority,  seeing  thai  the  higher 
nobility  were  beginning  once  more  the  mute  opposi- 
tion it  had  formerly  made  to  Napoleon,  —  which  was, 
in  truth,  its  wisest  course  under  an  empire  of  deeds 
and  facts,  but  which  in  an  epoch  of  moral  causes  was 
equivalent  to  abdication,  — she  chose  personal  happi- 
ness rather  than  such  eclipse.  About  the  time  we 
were  all  beginning  to  breathe  again,  Beatrix  met  at 
my  house  a  man  with  whom  I  had  expected  to  end 
my  days, —  Gennaro  Conti,  the  great  composer,  a  man 
of  Neapolitan  origin,  though  born  in  Marseilles. 
Conti  has  a  brilliant  mind;  as  a  composer  he  has 
talent,  though  he  will  never  attain  to  the  first  rank. 
Without  Rossini,  without  Meyerbeer,  he  might  perhaps 
have  been  taken  for  a  man  of  genius.  He  has  one 
advantage  over  those  men,  —  he  is  in  vocal  music 
what  Paganini  is  on  the  violin,  Liszt  on  the  piano, 
Taglioni  in  the  ballet,  and  what  the  famous  Garat 
was;  at  any  rate  he  recalls  that  great  singer  to  those 
who  knew  him.  His  is  not  a  voice,  my  friend,  it  is 
a  soul.  When  its  song  replies  to  certain  ideas,  cer- 
tain states  of  feeling  difficult  to  describe  in  which  a 
woman  sometimes  finds  herself,  that  woman  is  lost. 
The  marquise  conceived  the  maddest  passion  for  him, 
and  took  him  from  me.  The  act  was  provincial,  I 
allow,  but  it  was  all  fair  play.  She  won  my  esteem 
and  friendship  by  the  way  she  behaved  to  me.  She 
thought  me  a  woman  who  was  likely  to  defend  her 
own;  she  did  not  know  that  to  imc  the  most  ridiculous 
thing  in  the  world  is  such  a  struggle.  She  came  to 
see  me.     That  woman,  proud  as  she  is,  was  so  in  love 


118  Beatrix. 

that  she  told  me  her  secret  and  made  me  the  arbiter 
of  her  destiny.  She  was  really  adorable,  and  she  kept 
her  place  as  woman  and  as  marquise  in  my  eyes.  I 
must  tell  you,  dear  friend,  that  while  women  are  some- 
times bad,  they  have  hidden  grandeurs  in  their  souls 
that  men  can  never  appreciate.  Well,  as  I  seem  to  be 
making  my  last  will  and  testament  like  a  woman  on 
the  verge  of  old  age,  I  shall  tell  you  that  I  was  ever 
faithful  to  Conti,  and  should  have  been  till  death,  and 
yet  I  know  him.  His  nature  is  charming,  apparently, 
and  detestable  beneath  its  surface.  He  is  a  charlatan 
in  matters  of  the  heart.  There  are  some  men,  like 
Nathan,  of  whom  I  have  already  spoken  to  you,  who 
are  charlatans  externally,  and  yet  honest.  Such  men 
lie  to  themselves.  Mounted  on  their  stilts  they  think 
they  are  on  their  feet,  and  perform  their  jugglery  with 
a  sort  of  innocence;  their  humbuggery  is  in  their 
blood;  they  are  born  comedians,  braggarts;  extrava- 
gant in  form  as  a  Chinese  vase;  perhaps  they  even 
laugh  at  themselves.  Their  personality  is  generous; 
like  Murat's  kingly  garments,  it  attracts  danger.  But 
Conti's  duplicity  will  be  known  only  to  the  women 
who  love  him.  In  his  art  he  has  that  deep  Italian 
jealousy  which  led  the  Carlone  to  murder  Piola,  and 
stuck  a  stiletto  into  Paesiello.  That  terrible  envy 
lurks  beneath  the  warmest  comradeship.  Conti  has 
not  the  courage  of  his  vice;  he  smiles  at  Meyerbeer 
and  flatters  him,  when  he  fain  would  tear  him  to  bits. 
He  knows  his  weakness,  and  cultivates  an  appear- 
ance of  sincerity;  his  vanity  still  further  leads  him 
to  play  at  sentiments  which  are  far  indeed  from  his 
real  heart.     He   represents  himself  as  an  artist  who 


Beatrix,  119 

receives  his  inspirations  from  heaven;  Art  is  some- 
thing saintly  and  sacred  to  him;  he  is  fanatic;  he  is 
sublime  in  his  contempt  for  worldliness;  his  eloquence 
seems  to  come  from  the  deepest  convictions.  He  is 
a  seer,  a  demon,  a  god,  an  angel.  Calyste,  although 
I  warn  you  about  him,  you  will  be  his  dupe.  That 
Southern  nature,  that  impassioned  artist  is  cold  as  a 
well-rope.  Listen  to  him:  the  artist  is  a  missionary. 
Art  is  a  religion,  which  has  its  priests  and  ought  to  have 
its  martyrs.  Once  started  on  that  theme,  Gennaro 
reaches  the  most  dishevelled  pathos  that  any  German 
professor  of  philosophy  ever  spluttered  to  his  audi- 
ence. You  admire  his  convictions,  but  he  has  n*t  any. 
Bearing  his  hearers  to  heaven  on  a  song  which  seems 
a  mysterious  fluid  shedding  love,  he  casts  an  ecstatic 
glance  upon  them ;  he  is  examining  their  enthusiasm ; 
he  is  asking  himself:  'Am  I  really  a  god  to  them?  ' 
and  he  is  also  thinking:  *I  ate  too  much  maccaroni 
to-day.'  He  is  insatiable  of  applause,  and  he  wins  it. 
He  delights,  he  is  beloved;  he  is  admired  whensoever 
he  will.  He  owes  his  success  more  to  his  voice  than 
to  his  talent  as  a  composer,  though  he  would  rather  be 
a  man  of  genius  like  Rossini  than  a  performer  like 
Rubini.  I  had  committed  the  folly  of  attaching  my- 
self to  him,  and  I  was  determined  and  resigned  to 
deck  this  idol  to  the  end.  Conti,  like  a  great  many 
artists,  is  dainty  in  all  his  ways;  he  likes  his  ease, 
his  enjoyments;  he  is  always  carefully,  even  ele- 
gantly dressed.  I  do  respect  his  courage;  he  is 
brave ;  bravery,  they  say,  is  the  only  virtue  into  which 
hypocrisy  cannot  enter.  While  we  were  travelling  I 
saw  his  courage  tested;  he  risked  the  life  he  loved; 


120  Beatrix. 

and  yet,  strange  contradiction!  I  have  seen  him,  in 
Paris,  commit  what  I  call  the  cowardice  of  thought. 
My  friend,  all  this  was  known  to  me.  I  said  to  the 
poor  marquise:  'You  don't  know  into  what  a  gulf 
you  are  plunging.  You  are  the  Perseus  of  a  poor 
Andromeda;  you  release  me  from  my  rock.  If  he 
loves  you,  so  much  the  better!  but  I  doubt  it;  he 
loves  no  one  but  himself.*  Gennaro  was  transported 
to  the  seventh  heaven  of  pride.  I  was  not  a  mar- 
quise, I  was  not  born  a  Casterau,  and  he  forgot  me 
in  a  day.  I  then  gave  myself  the  savage  pleasure 
of  probing  that  nature  to  the  bottom.  Certain  of  the 
result,  I  wanted  to  see  the  twistings  and  turnings 
Conti  would  perform.  My  dear  child,  I  saw  in  one 
week  actual  horrors  of  sham  sentiment,  infamous 
buffooneries  of  feeling.  I  will  not  tell  you  about 
them;  you  shall  see  the  man  here  in  a  day  or  two. 
He  now  knows  that  I  know  him,  and  he  hates  me 
accordingly.  If  he  could  stab  me  with  safety  to  him- 
self I  should  n't  be  alive  two  seconds.  I  have  never 
said  one  word  of  all  this  to  Beatrix.  The  last  and 
constant  insult  which  Gennaro  offers  me  is  to  suppose 
that  I  am  capable  of  communicating  my  sad  knowl- 
edge of  him  to  her ;  but  he  has  no  belief  in  the  good 
feeling  of  any  human  being.  Even  now  he  is  play- 
ing a  part  with  me ;  he  is  posing  as  a  man  who  is 
wretched  at  having  left  me.  You  will  find  what  I 
may  call  the  most  penetrating  cordiality  about  him; 
he  is  winning ;  he  is  chivalrous.  To  him,  all  women 
are  madonnas.  One  must  live  with  him  long  before 
we  get  behind  the  veil  of  this  false  chivalry  and  learn 
the  invisible  signs  of  his  humbug.     His  tone  of  con- 


Beatrix.  121 

viction  about  himself  might  almost  deceive  the  Deity. 
You  will  be  entrapped,  my  dear  child,  by  his  catlike 
manners,  and  you  will  never  believe  in  the  profound 
and  rapid  arithmetic  of  his  inmost  thought.  But 
enough ;  let  us  leave  him.  I  pushed  indifference  so  far 
as  to  receive  them  together  in  my  house.  This  cir- 
cumstance kept  that  most  perspicacious  of  all  socie- 
ties, the  great  world  of  Paris,  ignorant  of  the  affair. 
Though  intoxicated  with  pride,  Gennaro  was  compelled 
to  dissimulate;  and  he  did  it  admirably.  But  violent 
passions  will  have  their  freedom  at  any  cost.  Before 
the  end  of  the  year,  Beatrix  whispered  in  my  ear  one 
evening:  'My  dear  Felicity,  I  start  to-morrow  for 
Italy  with  Conti.'  I  was  not  surprised;  she  regarded 
herself  as  united  for  life  to  Gennaro,  and  she  suffered 
from  the  restraints  imposed  upon  her;  she  escaped  one 
evil  by  rushing  into  a  greater.  Conti  was  wild  with 
happiness,  —  the  happiness  of  vanity  alone.  '  That 's 
what  it  is  to  love  truly,'  he  said  to  me.  *  How  many 
women  are  there  who  could  sacrifice  their  lives,  their 
fortune,  their  reputation?'  —  *  Yes,  she  loves  you,'  I 
replied,  *  but  you  do  not  love  her.'  He  was  furious, 
and  made  me  a  scene;  he  stormed,  he  declaimed,  he 
depicted  his  love,  declaring  that  he  had  never  supposed 
it  possible  to  love  as  much.  I  remained  impassible, 
and  lent  him  money  for  his  journey,  which,  being 
unexpected,  found  him  unprepared.  Beatrix  left  a 
letter  for  her  husband  and  started  the  next  day  for 
Italy.  There  she  has  remained  two  years;  she  has 
written  to  me  several  times,  and  her  letters  are  enchant- 
ing. The  poor  child  attaches  herself  to  me  as  the 
only  woman  who  will  comprehend  her.     She  says  she 


122  Beatrix. 

adores  me.  Want  of  money  has  compelled  Gennaro 
to  accept  an  offer  to  write  a  French  opera ;  he  does  not 
find  in  Italy  the  pecuniary  gains  which  composers 
obtain  in  Paris.  Here  's  the  letter  I  received  yester- 
day from  Beatrix.  Take  it  and  read  it;  you  can  now 
understand  it,  —  that  is,  if  it  is  possible,  at  your  age, 
to  analyze  the  things  of  the  heart." 

So  saying,  she  held  out  the  letter  to  him. 

At  this  moment  Claude  Vignon  entered  the  room. 
At  his  unexpected  apparition  Calyste  and  Felicite  were 
both  silent  for  a  moment, —  she  from  surprise,  he  from 
a  vague  uneasiness.  The  vast  forehead,  broad  and 
high,  of  the  new-comer,  who  was  bald  at  the  age  of 
thirty-seven,  now  seemed  darkened  by  annoyance. 
His  firm,  judicial  mouth  expressed  a  habit  of  chilling 
sarcasm.  Claude  Vignon  is  imposing,  in  spite  of  the 
precocious  deteriorations  of  a  face  once  magnificent, 
and  now  grown  haggard.  Between  the  ages  of  eigh- 
teen and  twenty-five  he  strongly  resembled  the  divine 
Raffaelle.  But  his  nose,  that  feature  of  the  human 
face  that  changes  most,  is  growing  to  a  point;  the 
countenance  is  sinking  into  mysterious  depressions, 
the  outlines  are  thickening ;  leaden  tones  predominate 
in  the  complexion,  giving  tokens  of  w^eariness,  al- 
though the  fatigues  of  this  young  man  are  not  appar- 
ent; perhaps  some  bitter  solitude  has  aged  him,  or  the 
abuse  of  his  gift  of  comprehension.  He  scrutinizes 
the  thought  of  every  one,  yet  without  definite  aim  or 
system.  The  pickaxe  of  his  criticism  demolishes,  it 
never  constructs.  Thus  his  lassitude  is  that  of  a 
mechanic,  not  of  an  architect.  The  eyes,  of  a  pale 
blue,  once  very  brilliant,  are   clouded  now  by  some 


Beatrix.  123 

hidden  pain,  or  dulled  by  gloomy  sadness.  Excesses 
have  laid  dark  tints  above  the  eyelids;  the  temples 
have  lost  their  freshness.  The  chin,  of  incomparable 
destinction,  is  getting  doubled,  but  without  dignity. 
His  voice,  never  sonorous,  is  weakening;  without 
being  either  hbarse  or  extinct,  it  touches  the  confines 
of  hoarseness  and  extinction.  The  impassibility  of 
that  fine  head,  the  fixity  of  that  glance,  cover  irresolu- 
tion and  weakness,  which  the  keenly  intelligent  and 
sarcastic  smile  belies.  The  weakness  lies  wholly  in 
action,  not  in  thought;  there  are  traces  of  an  ency- 
clopedic comprehension  on  that  brow,  and  in  the 
habitual  movement  of  a  face  that  is  childlike  and 
splendid  both.  The  man  is  tall,  slightly  bent  already, 
like  all  those  who  bear  the  weight  of  a  world  of 
thought.  Such  long,  tall  bodies  are  never  remarkable 
for  continuous  effort  or  creative  activity.  Charlemagne, 
Belisarius,  and  Constantine  are  noted  exceptions  to 
this  rule. 

Certainly  Claude  Vignon  presents  a  variety  of  mys- 
teries to  be  solved.  In  the  first  place,  he  is  very 
simple  and  very  wily.  Though  he  falls  into  ex- 
cesses with  the  readiness  of  a  courtesan,  his  powers  of 
thought  remain  untouched.  Yet  his  intellect,  which 
is  competent  to  criticise  art,  science,  literature,  and 
politics,  is  incompetent  to  guide  his  external  life. 
Claude  contemplates  himself  within  the  domain  of  his 
intellectual  kingdom,  and  abandons  his  outer  man  with 
Diogenic  indifference.  Satisfied  to  penetrate  all,  to 
comprehend  all  by  thought,  he  despises  materialities; 
and  yet,  if  it  becomes  a  question  of  creating,  doubt 
assails  him;  he  sees  obstacles,  he  is  not  inspired  by 


124  Beatrix. 

beauties,  and  while  he  is  debating  means,  he  sits  with 
his  arms  pendent,  accomplishing  nothing.  He  is  the 
Turk  of  the  intellect  made  somnolent  by  meditation. 
Criticism  is  his  opium;  his  harem  of  books  to  read 
disgusts  him  with  real  work.  Indifferent  to  small 
things  as  well  as  great  things,  he  is  sometimes  com- 
pelled, by  the  very  weight  of  his  head,  to  fall  into  a 
debauch,  and  abdicate  for  a  few  hours  the  fatal  power 
of  omnipotent  analysis.  He  is  far  too  preoccupied 
with  the  wrong  side  of  genius,  and  Camille  Maupin's 
desire  to  put  him  back  on  the  right  side  is  easily  con- 
ceivable. The  task  was  an  attractive  one.  Claude 
Vignon  thinks  himself  a  great  politician  as  well  as  a 
great  writer;  but  this  unpublished  Macchiavelli  laughs 
within  himself  at  all  ambitions;  he  knows  what  he 
can  do;  he  has  instinctively  taken  the  measure  of  his 
future  on  his  faculties;  he  sees  his  greatness,  but  he 
also  sees  obstacles,  grows  alarmed  or  disgusted,  lets 
the  time  roll  by,  and  does  not  go  to  work.  Like 
Etienne  Lousteau  the  feuilletonist,  like  Nathan  the 
dramatic  author,  like  Blondet,  another  journalist,  he 
came  from  the  ranks  of  the  bourgeoisie,  to  which  we 
owe  the  greater  number  of  our  writers. 

"Which  way  did  you  come?"  asked  Mademoiselle 
des  Touches,  coloring  with  either  pleasure  or  surprise. 

"By  the  door,"  replied  Claude  Vignon,  dryly. 

*'0h,"  she  cried,  shrugging  her  shoulders,  "I  am 
aware  that  you  are  not  a  man  to  climb  in  by  a 
window." 

"Scaling  a  window  is  a  badge  of  honor  for  a 
beloved  woman." 

"Enough!"  said  Felicite. 


BSatrix.  125 

"Am  I  in  the  way?"  asked  Claude. 

"Monsieur,"  said  Calyste,  artlessly,  "this  letter  —  " 

"Pray  keep  it;  I  ask  no  questions;  at  our  age  we 
understand  such  affairs,"  he  answered,  interrupting 
Calyste  with  a  sardonic  air. 

"But,  monsieur,"  began  Calyste,  much  provoked. 

"Calm  yourself,  young  man;  I  have  the  utmost 
indulgence  for  sentiments." 

"My  dear  Calyste,"  said  Camille,  wishing  to  speak. 

"*  Dear'?"  said  Vignon,  interrupting  her. 

"Claude  is  joking,"  said  Camille,  continuing  her 
remarks  to  Calyste.  "He  is  wrong  to  do  it  with  you, 
who  know  nothing  of  Parisian  ways." 

"I  did  not  know  that  I  was  joking,"  said  Claude 
Vignon,  very  gravely. 

"Which  way  did  you  come?"  asked  F^licite  again. 
"I  have  been  watching  the  road  to  Croisic  for  the 
last  two  hours." 

"Not  all  the  time,"  replied  Vignon. 

"You  are  too  bad  to  jest  in  this  way." 

"Am  I  jesting?" 

Calyste  rose. 

"Why  should  you  go  so  soon?  You  are  certainly 
at  your  ease  here,"  said  Vignon. 

"Quite  the  contrary,"  replied  the  angry  young 
Breton,  to  whom  Camille  Maupin  stretched  out  a  hand, 
which  he  took  and  kissed,  dropping  a  tear  upon  it, 
after  which  he  took  his  leave. 

"I  should  like  to  be  that  little  young  man,"  said  the 
critic,  sitting  down,  and  taking  one  end  of  the  hookah. 
"How  he  will  love!" 

"Too  much ;  for  then  he  will  not  be  loved  in  return," 


126  Beatrix. 

replied  Mademoiselle  des  Touches.  >' Madame  de 
Rochefide  is  coming  here,"  she  added. 

''You  don't  say  so!  "  exclaimed  Claude.  "With 
Conti?" 

"She  will  stay  here  alone,  but  he  accompanies  her." 

"Have  they  quarrelled?" 

"No." 

"Play  me  a  sonata  of  Beethoven's;  I  know  nothing 
of  the  music  he  wrote  for  the  piano." 

Claude  began  to  fill  the  tube  of  the  hookah  with 
Turkish  tobacco,  all  the  while  examining  Camille 
much  more  attentively  than  she  observed.  A  dreadful 
thought  oppressed  him ;  he  fancied  he  was  being  used 
for  a  blind  by  this  woman.  The  situation  was  a  novel 
one. 

Calyste  went  home  thinking  no  longer  of  Beatrix  de 
Rochefide  and  her  letter;  he  was  furious  against  Claude 
Vignon  for  what  he  considered  the  utmost  indelicacy, 
and  he  pitied  poor  Felicite.  How  was  it  possible  to 
be  beloved  by  that  sublime  creature  and  not  adore  her 
on  his  knees,  not  believe  her  on  the  faith  of  a  glance 
or  a  smile?  He  felt  a  desire  to  turn  and  rend  that 
cold,  pale  spectre  of  a  man.  Ignorant  he  might  be, 
as  Felicite  had  told  him,  of  the  tricks  of  thought  of 
the  jesters  of  the  press,  but  one  thing  he  knew —  Love 
was  the  human  religion. 

When  his  mother  saw  him  entering  the  court-yard  she 
uttered  an  exclamation  of  joy,  and  Zephirine  whistled 
for  Mariotte. 

"Mariotte,  the  boy  is  coming!  cook  the  fish!" 

"I  see  him,  mademoiselle,"  replied  the  woman. 

Fanny,  uneasy  at  the  sadness  she  saw  on  her  son's 


Beatrix.  127 

brow,  picked  up  her  worsted- work ;  the  old  aunt  took 
out  her  knitting.  The  baron  gave  his  arm-chair  to 
his  son  and  walked  about  the  room,  as  if  to  stretch  his 
legs  before  going  out  to  take  a  turn  in  the  garden. 
No  Flemish  or  Dutch  picture  ever  presented  an  interior 
in  tones  more  mellow,  peopled  with  faces  and  forms 
so  harmoniously  blending.  The  handsome  young  man 
in  his  black  velvet  coat,  the  mother,  still  so  beautiful, 
and  the  aged  brother  and  sister  framed  by  that  ancient 
hall,  were  a  moving  domestic  harmony. 

Fanny  would  fain  have  questioned  Calyste,  but  he 
had  already  pulled  a  letter  from  his  pocket,  —  that 
letter  of  the  Marquise  Beatrix,  which  was,  perhaps, 
destined  to  destroy  the  happiness  of  this  noble  family. 
As  he  unfolded  it,  Calyste's  awakened  imagination 
showed  him  the  marquise  dressed  as  Camille  Maupiu 
had  fancifully  depicted  her. 

From  the  Marquise  de  Rochefide  to  Mademoiselle  des 
Touches, 

Genoa,  July  2. 

I  have  not  written  to  you  since  our  stay  in  Florence, 
my  dear  friend,  for  Venice  and  Rome  have  absorbed 
my  time,  and,  as  you  know,  happiness  occupies  a  large 
part  of  life;  so  far,  we  have  neither  of  us  dropped 
from  its  first  level.  I  am  a  little  fatigued;  for  when 
one  has  a  soul  not  easy  to  blaser,  the  constant  succes- 
sion of  enjoyments  naturally  causes  lassitude. 

Our  friend  has  had  magnificent  triumphs  at  the  Scala 
and  the  Fenice,  and  now  at  the  San  Carlo.  Three 
Italian  operas  in  two  years !     You  cannot  say  that  love 


128  Beatrix. 

has  made  him  idle.  We  have  been  warmly  received 
everywhere, —  though  I  myself  would  have  preferred 
solitude  and  silence.  Surely  that  is  the  only  suitable 
manner  of  life  for  women  who  have  placed  themselves 
in  direct  opposition  to  society  ?  I  expected  such  a  life ; 
but  love,  my  dear  friend,  is  a  more  exacting  master 
than  marriage,  —  however,  it  is  sweet  to  obey  him ; 
though  I  did  ,not  think  I  should  have  to  see  the  world 
again,  even  by  snatches,  and  the  attentions  I  receive 
are  so  many  stabs.  I  am  no  longer  on  a  footing  of 
equality  with  the  highest  rank  of  women ;  and  the  more 
attentions  are  paid  to  me,  the  more  my  inferiority  is 
made  apparent. 

Gennaro  could  not  comprehend  this  sensitiveness; 
but  he  has  been  so  happy  that  it  would  ill  become  me 
not  to  have  sacrificed  my  petty  vanity  to  that  great 
and  noble  thing,  —  the  life  of  an  artist.  We  women 
live  by  love,  whereas  men  live  by  love  and  action; 
otherwise  they  would  not  be  men.  Still,  there  are  great 
disadvantages  for  a  woman  in  the  position  in  which 
I  have  put  myself.  You  have  escaped  them ;  you  con- 
tinue to  be  a  person  in  the  eyes  of  the  world,  which 
has  no  rights  over  you;  you  have  your  own  free  will, 
and  I  have  lost  mine.  I  am  speaking  now  of  the  things 
of  the  heart,  not  those  of  social  life,  which  I  have 
utterly  renounced.  You  can  be  coquettish  and  self- 
willed,  and  have  all  the  graces  of  a  woman  who  loves, 
a  woman  who  can  give  or  refuse  her  love  as  she  pleases ; 
you  have  kept  the  right  to  have  caprices,  in  the  in- 
tei'ests  even  of  your  love.  In  short,  to-day  you  still 
possess  your  right  of  feeling,  while  I,  I  have  no  longer 
any  liberty  of  heart,  which  I  think  precious  to  exer- 


Beatrix.  129 

cise  in  love,  even  though  the  love  itself  may  be  eternal. 
I  have  no  right  now  to  that  privilege  of  quarrelling  in 
jest  to  which  so  many  women  cling,  and  justly;  for 
is  it  not  the  plummet  line  with  which  to  sound  the 
hearts  of  men?  I  have  no  threat  at  my  command.  I 
must  draw  my  power  henceforth  from  obedience,  from 
unlimited  gentleness;  I  must  make  myself  imposing 
by  the  greatness  of  my  love.  I  would  rather  die  than 
leave  Gennaro,  and  my  pardon  lies  in  the  sanctity  of 
my  love.  Between  social  dignity  and  my  petty  per- 
sonal dignity,  I  did  right  not  to  hesitate.  If  at  times 
I  have  a  few  melancholy  feelings,  like  clouds  that  pass 
through  a  clear  blue  sky,  and  to  which  all  women  like 
to  yield  themselves,  I  keep  silence  about  them ;  they 
might  seem  like  regrets.  Ah  me!  I  have  so  fully 
understood  the  obligations  of  my  position  that  I  have 
armed  myself  with  the  utmost  indulgence ;  but  so  far, 
Gennaro  has  not  alarmed  my  susceptible  jealousy.  I 
don't  as  yet  see  where  that  dear  great  genius  may 
fail. 

Dear  angel,  I  am  like  those  pious  souls  who  argue 
with  their  God,  for  are  not  you  my  Providence?  do  I 
not  owe  my  happiness  to  you?  You  must  never  doubt, 
therefore,  that  you  are  constantly  in  my  thoughts. 

I  have  seen  Italy  at  last;  seen  it  as  you  saw  it,  and 
as  it  ought  to  be  seen,  —  lighted  to  our  souls  by  love, 
as  it  is  by  its  own  bright  sun  and  its  masterpieces.  I 
pity  those  w^ho,  being  moved  to  adoration  at  every 
step,  have  no  hand  to  press,  no  heart  in  which  to  shed 
the  exuberance  of  emotions  which  calm  themselves 
when  shared.  These  two  years  have  been  to  me  a 
lifetime,  in  which  my  memory  has  stored  rich  harvests. 

9 


130  Beatrix, 

Have  you  made  plans,  as  I  do,  to  stay  forever  at 
Chiavari,  to  buy  a  palazzo  in  Venice,  a  summer-house 
at  Sorrento,  a  villa  in  Florence?  All  loving  women 
dread  society;  but  I,  who  am  cast  forever  outside  of 
it,  ought  I  not  to  bury  myself  in  some  beautiful  land- 
scape, on  flowery  slopes,  facing  the  sea,  or  in  a  valley 
that  equals  a  sea,  like  that  of  Fiesole? 

But  alas!  we  are  only  poor  artists,  and  want  of 
money  is  bringing  these  two  bohemians  back  to  Paris. 
Gennaro  does  not  want  me  to  feel  that  I  have  lost  my 
luxury,  and  he  wishes  to  put  his  new  work,  a  grand 
opera,  into  rehearsal  at  once.  You  will  understand, 
of  course,  my  dearest,  that  I  cannot  set  foot  in  Paris. 
I  could  not,  I  would  not,  even  if  it  costs  me  my  love, 
meet  one  of  those  glances  of  women,  or  of  men,  which 
would  make  me  think  of  murder  or  suicide.  Yes,  I 
could  hack  in  pieces  whoever  insulted  me  with  pity ; 
like  Chateauneuf,  who,  in  the  time  of  Henri  HI.,  I 
think,  rode  his  horse  at  the  Provost  of  Paris  for  a 
wrong  of  that  kind,  and  trampled  him  under  hoof. 

I  write,  therefore,  to  say  that  I  shall  soor  pay  you 
a  visit  at  Les  Touches.  I  want  to  stay  there,  in  that 
Chartreuse,  while  awaiting  the  success  of  our  Gen- 
naro's  opera.  You  see  that  I  am  bold  with  my  bene- 
factress, my  sister;  but  I  prove,  at  any  rate,  that  the 
greatest  of  obligations  laid  upon  me  has  not  led  me, 
as  it  does  so  many  people,  to  ingratitude.  You  have 
told  me  so  much  of  the  diflficulties  of  the  land  journey 
that  I  shall  go  to  Croisic  by  water.  This  idea  came 
to  me  on  finding  that  there  is  a  little  Danish  vessel 
now  here,  laden  with  marble,  which  is  to  touch  at 
Croisic  for  a  cargo  of  salt  on  its  way  back  to  the  Bal- 


Beatrix.  131 

tic.  I  shall  thus  escape  the  fatigue  and  the  cost  of 
the  land  journey.  Dear  Felicite,  you  are  the  only  per- 
son with  whom  I  could  be  alone  without  Conti.  Will 
it  not  be  some  pleasure  to  have  a  woman  with  you  who 
understands  your  heart  as  fully  as  you  do  hers? 

Adieu,  a  hlentot.  The  wind  is  favorable,  and  I  set 
sail,  wafting  you  a  kiss. 

Beatrix. 

"Ah!  she  loves,  too!"  thought  Calyste,  folding  the 
letter  sadly. 

That  sadness  flowed  to  the  heart  of  the  mother  as  if 
some  gleam  had  lighted  up  a  gulf  to  her.  The  baron 
had  gone  out;  Fanny  went  to  the  door  of  the  tower 
and  pushed  the  bolt,  then  she  returned,  and  leaned 
upon  the  back  of  her  boy's  chair,  like  the  sister  of 
Dido  in  Guerin's  picture,  and  said,  — 

*'What  is  it,  my  Calyste?  what  makes  you  so  sad? 
You  promised  to  explain  to  me  these  visits  to  Les 
Touches ;  I  am  to  bless  its  mistress,  —  at  least,  you 
said  so." 

*'Yes,  indeed  you  will,  dear  mother,"  he  replied. 
"She  has  shown  me  the  insufTiciency  of  my  education 
at  an  epoch  when  the  nobles  ought  to  possess  a  per- 
sonal value  in  order  to  give  life  to  their  rank.  I  was 
as  far  from  the  age  we  live  in  as  Guerande  is  from 
Paris.  She  has  been,  as  it  were,  the  mother  of  my 
intellect." 

"I  cannot  bless  her  for  that,"  said  the  baroness,  with 
tears  in  her  eyes. 

"Mamma!  "  cried  Calyste,  on  whose  forehead  those 
hot   tears  fell,   two  pearls  of  sorrowful  motherhood, 


132  Beatrix 

"mamma,  don't  weep!  Just  now,  when  I  wanted  to 
do  her  a  service,  and  search  the  country  round,  she 
said,  '  It  will  make  your  mother  so  uneasy. '  " 

''Did  she  say  that?  Then  I  can  forgive  her  many 
things,"  replied  Fanny. 

''Felicite  thinks  only  of  my  good,"  continued 
Calyste.  "She  often  checks  the  lively,  venturesome 
language  of  artists  so  as  not  to  shake  in  me  a  faith 
which  is,  though  she  knows  it  not,  unshakable.  She 
has  told  me  of  the  life  in  Paris  of  several  young  men 
of  the  highest  nobility  coming  from  their  provinces,  as 
I  might  do,— leaving  families  without  fortune,  but 
obtaining  in  Paris,  by  the  power  of  their  will  and  their 
intellect,  a  great  career.  I  can  do  what  the  Baron  de 
Rastignac,  now  a  minister  of  State,  has  done.  Felicite 
has  taught  me;  I  read  with  her;  she  gives  me  lessons 
on  the  piano;  she  is  teaching  me  Italian;  she  has 
initiated  me  into  a  thousand  social  secrets,  about 
which  no  one  in  Guerande  knows  anything  at  all. 
She  could  not  give  me  the  treasures  of  her  love,  but 
she  has  given  me  those  of  her  vast  intellect,  her 
mind,  her  genius.  She  does  not  want  to  be  a  pleas- 
ure, but  a  light  to  me;  she  lessens  not  one  of  my 
faiths ;  she  herself  has  faith  in  the  nobility,  she  loves 
Brittany,  she  —  " 

"She  has  changed  our  Calyste,"  said  his  blind  old 
aunt,  interrupting  him.  "I  do  not  understand  one 
word  he  has  been  saying.  You  have  a  solid  roof  over 
your  head,  my  good  nephew;  you  have  parents  and 
relations  who  adore  you,  and  faithful  servants;  you 
can  marry  some  good  little  Breton  girl,  religious  and 
accomplished,  who   will   make  you   happy.      Reserve 


Beatrix.  133 

your  ambitions  for  your  eldest  son,  who  may  be  four 
times  as  rich  as  you,  if  you  choose  to  live  tranquilly, 
thriftily,  in  obscurity, —  but  in  the  peace  of  God, —  in 
order  to  release  the  burdens  on  your  estate.  It  is  all 
as  simple  as  a  Breton  heart.  You  will  be,  not  so  rap- 
idly perhaps,  but  more  solidly,  a  rich  nobleman." 

*'Your  aunt  is  right,  my  darling;  she  plans  for  your 
happiness  with  as  much  anxiety  as  I  do  myself.  If  I 
do  not  succeed  in  marrying  you  to  my  niece,  Margaret, 
the  daughter  of  your  uncle.  Lord  Fitzwilliam,  it  is 
almost  certain  that  Mademoiselle  de  Pen-Hoel  will 
leave  her  fortune  to  whichever  of  her  nieces  you  may 
choose." 

**And  besides,  there  's  a  little  gold  to  be  found 
here,"  added  the  old  aunt  in  a  low  voice,  with  a  myste- 
rious glance  about  her. 

''Marry !  at  my  age !  "  he  said,  casting  on  his  mother 
one  of  those  looks  which  melt  the  arguments  of 
mothers.  ''Am  I  to  live  without  my  beautiful  fond 
loves  ?  Must  I  never  tremble  or  throb  or  fear  or  gasp, 
or  lie  beneath  implacable  looks  and  soften  them  ?  Am 
I  never  to  know  beauty  in  its  freedom,  the  fantasy  of 
the  soul,  the  clouds  that  course  through  the  azure  of 
happiness,  which  the  breath  of  pleasure  dissipates? 
Ah!  shall  I  never  wander  in  those  sweet  by-paths 
moist  with  dew;  never  stand  beneath  the  drenching 
of  a  gutter  and  not  know  it  rains,  like  those  lovers 
seen  by  Diderot;  never  take,  like  the  Due  de  Lorraine, 
a  live  coal  in  my  hand?  Are  there  no  silken  ladders 
for  me,  no  rotten  trellises  to  cling  to  and  not  fall? 
Shall  I  know  nothing  of  woman  but  conjugal  submis- 
sion ;  nothing  of  love  but  the  flame  of  its  lamp-wick  ? 


134  Beatrix. 

Are  my  longings  to  be  satisfied  before  they  are  roused? 
Must  I  live  out  my  days  deprived  of  that  madness  of 
the  heart  that  makes  a  man  and  his  power?  Would 
you  make  me  a  married  monk?  No!  I  have  eaten 
of  the  fruit  of  Parisian  civilization.  Do  you  not  see 
that  you  have,  by  the  ignorant  morals  of  this  family, 
prepared  the  fire  that  consumes  me,  that  will  consume 
me  utterly,  unless  I  can  adore  the  divineness  I  see 
everywhere,  —  in  those  sands  gleaming  in  the  sun,  in 
the  green  foliage,  in  all  the  women,  beautiful,  noble, 
elegant,  pictured  in  the  books  and  in  the  poems  I 
have  read  with  Camille  ?  Alas !  there  is  but  one  such 
woman  in  Guerande,  and  it  is  you,  my  mother!  The 
birds  of  my  beautiful  dream,  they  come  from  Paris, 
they  fly  from  the  pages  of  Scott,  of  Byron, — Parisina, 
EflSe,  Minna!  yes,  and  that  royal  duchess,  whom  I 
saw  on  the  moors  among  the  furze  and  the  ferns, 
whose  very  aspect  sent  the  blood  to  my  heart." 

The  baroness  saw  these  thoughts  flaming  in  the  eyes 
of  her  son,  clearer,  more  beautiful,  more  living  than 
art  can  tell  to  those  who  read  them.  She  grasped 
them  rapidly,  flung  to  her  as  they  were  in  glances 
like  arrows  from  an  upset  quiver.  Without  having 
read  Beaumarchais,  she  felt,  as  other  women  would 
have  felt,  that  it  would  be  a  crime  to  marry  Calyste. 

"Oh!  my  child!  "  she  said,  taking  him  in  her  arms, 
and  kissing  the  beautiful  hair  that  was  still  hers, 
"marry  whom  you  will,  and  when  you  will,  but  be 
happy!     My  part  in  life  is  not  to  hamper  you." 

Mariotte  came  to  lay  the  table.  Gasselin  was  out 
exercising  Calyste' s  horse,  which  the  youth  had  not 
mounted  for  two  months..    The  three  women,  mother, 


BSatrlz:  135 

aunt,  and  Mariotte,  shared  in  the  tender  feminine  wili- 
uess,  which  taught  them  to  make  much  of  Calyste 
when  he  dined  at  home.  Breton  plainness  fought 
against  Parisian  luxury,  now  brought  to  the  very 
doors  of  Guerande.  Mariotte  endeavored  to  wean  her 
young  master  from  the  accomplished  service  of  Camille 
Maupin's  kitchen,  just  as  his  mother  and  aunt  strove 
to  hold  him  in  the  net  of  their  tenderness  and  render 
all  comparison  impossible. 

**  There  's  a  salmon- trout  for  dinner.  Monsieur 
Calyste,  and  snipe,  and  pancakes  such  as  I  know 
you  can't  get  anywhere  but  here,"  said  Mariotte,  with 
a  sly,  triumphant  4ook  as  she  smoothed  the  cloth,  a 
cascade  of  snow. 

After  dinner,  when  the  old  aunt  had  taken  up  her 
knitting,  and  the  rector  and  Monsieur  du  Halga  had 
arrived,  allured  by  their  precious  mouche,  Calyste 
went  back  to  Les  Touches  on  the  pretext  of  returning 
the  letter. 

Claude  Vignon  and  Felicite  were  still  at  table.  The 
great  critic  was  something  of  a  gourmand,  and  Felicite 
{)ampered  the  vice,  knowing  how  indispensable  a 
woman  makes  herself  by  such  compliance.  The 
dinner-table  presented  that  rich  and  brilliant  aspect 
which  modern  luxury,  aided  by  the  perfecting  of  han- 
dicrafts, now  gives  to  its  service.  The  poor  and  noble 
house  of  Guenic  little  knew  with  what  an  adversary  it 
was  endeavoring  to  compete,  or  what  amount  of  for- 
tune was  necessary  to  enter  the  lists  against  the  silver- 
ware, the  delicate  porcelains,  the  beautiful  linen,  the 
silver-gilt  service  brought  from  Paris  by  Mademoiselle 
des  Touches,   and  the  science  of  her  cook.     Calyste 


136  Beatrix, 

declined  the  liqueurs  contained  in  one  of  those  superb 
cases  of  precious  woods,  which  are  something  like 
tabernacles. 

''Here  's  the  letter,"  he  said,  with  innocent  ostenta- 
tion, looking  at  Claude,  who  was  slowly  sipping  a  glass 
of  liqueur-des-iles, 

''Well,  what  did  you  think  of  it?"  asked  Mademoi- 
selle des  Touches,  throwing  the  letter  across  the  table 
to  Vignon,  who  began  to  read  it,  taking  up  and  put- 
ting down  at  intervals  his  little  glass. 

"I  thought  —  well,  that  Parisian  women  were  very 
fortunate  to  have  men  of  genius  to  adore  who  adore 
them." 

"Ah!  you  are  still  in  your  village,"  said  Felicite, 
laughing.  "What!  you  did  not  see  that  she  loves  him 
less,  and  —  " 

"That  is  evident,"  said  Claude  Vignon,  who  had 
only  read  the  first  page.  "Do  people  reason  on  their 
situation  when  they  really  love ;  are  they  as  shrewd  as 
the  marquise,  as  observing,  as  discriminating?  Your 
dear  Beatrix  is  held  to  Conti  now  by  pride  only ;  she 
is  condemned  to  love  him  quand  meme." 

"Poor  woman!  "  said  Camille. 

Calyste's  eyes  were  fixed  on  the  table;  he  saw  noth- 
ing about  him.  The  beautiful  woman  in  the  fanciful 
dress  described  that  morning  by  Felicite  appeared  to 
him  crowned  with  light;  she  smiled  to  him,  she  waved 
her  fan;  the  other  hand,  issuing  from  its  ruflfle  of 
lace,  fell  white  and  pure  on  the  heavy  folds  of  her 
crimson  velvet  robe. 

"She  is  just  the  thing  for  you,"  said  Claude  Vignon, 
smiling  sardonically  at  Calyste. 


Beatrix,  137 

The  young  man  was  deeply  wounded  by  the  words, 
and  by  the  manner  in  which  they  were  said. 

** Don't  put  such  ideas  into  Calyste's  mind;  you 
don't  know  how  dangerous  such  jokes  may  prove  to 
be,"  said  Mademoiselle  des  Touches,  hastily.  *'I  know 
Beatrix,  and  there  is  something  too  grandiose  in  her 
nature  to  allow  her  to  change.  Besides,  Conti  will  be 
here." 

"Ha!"  said  Claude  Vignon,  satirically,  "a  slight 
touch  of  jealousy,  hey?" 

''Can  you  really  think  so?  "  said  Camille,  haughtily. 

''You  are  more  perspicacious  than  a  mother,"  replied 
Claude  Vignon,  still  sarcastically. 

"But  it  would  be  impossible,"  said  Camille,  looking 
at  Calyste. 

"They  are  very  well  matched,"  remarked  Vignon. 
"She  is  ten  years  older  than  he;  and  it  is  he  who 
appears  to  be  the  girl  —  " 

"A  girl,  monsieur,"  said  Calyste,  waking  from  his 
revery,  "who  has  been  twice  under  fire  in  La  Vendee! 
If  the  Cause  had  had  twenty  thousand  more  such 
girls  —  " 

"I  was  giving  you  some  well-deserved  praise,  and 
that  is  easier  than  to  give  you  a  beard,"  remarked 
Vignon. 

"1  have  a  sword  for  those  who  wear  their  beards  too 
long,"  cried  Calyste. 

"And  I  am  very  good  at  an  epigram,"  said  the 
other,  smiling.  "We  are  Frenchmen;  the  affair  can 
easily  be  arranged." 

Mademoiselle  des  Touches  cast  a  supplicating  look 
on  Calyste,  which  calmed  him  instantly. 


1B8  Beatrix. 

"Why,"  said  Felicite,  as  if  to  break  up  the  discus- 
sion, "do  young  men  like  my  Calyste,  begin  by  loving 
women  of  a  certain  age?  " 

"I  don't  know  any  sentiment  more  artless  or  more 
generous,"  replied  Vignon.  "It  is  the  natural  conse- 
quence of  the  adorable  qualities  of  youth.  Besides, 
how  would  old  women  end  if  it  were  not  for  such  love  ? 
You  are  young  and  beautiful,  and  will  be  for  twenty 
years  to  come,  so  I  can  speak  of  this  matter  before 
you,"  he  added,  with  a  keen  look  at  Mademoiselle  des 
Touches.  "In  the  first  place  the  semi-dowagers,  to 
whom  young  men  pay  their  fij-st  court,  know  much 
better  how  to  make  love  than  younger  wom-en.  An 
adolescent  youth  is  too  like  a  young  woman  himself 
for  a  young  woman  to  please  him.  Such  a  passion 
trenches  on  the  fable  of  Narcissus.  Besides  that  feel- 
ing of  repugnance,  there  is,  as  I  think,  a  mutual  sense 
of  inexperience  which  separates  them.  The  reason 
why  the  hearts  of  young  women  are  only  understood  by 
mature  men,  who  conceal  their  cleverness  under  a 
passion  real  or  feigned,  is  precisely  the  same  (allow- 
ing for  the  difference  of  minds)  as  that  which  renders 
a  woman  of  a  certain  age  more  adroit  in  attracting 
youth.  A  young  man  feels  that  he  is  sure  to  succeed 
with  her,  and  the  vanities  of  the  woman  are  flattered 
by  his  suit.  Besides,  is  n't  it  natural  for  youth  to 
fling  itself  on  fruits?  The  autumn  of  a  woman's  life 
offers  many  that  are  very  toothsome,  —  those  looks, 
for  instance,  bold,  and  yet  reserved,  bathed  with  the 
last  rays  of  love,  so  warm,  so  sweet;  that  all-wise 
elegance  of  speech,  those  magnificent  shoulders,  so 
nobly  developed,  the  full  and  undulating  outline,  the 


Beatrix.  139 

dimpled  hands,  the  hair  so  well  arranged,  so  cared  for, 
tliiit  charming  nape  of  the  neck,  where  all  the  resources 
of  art  are  displayed  to  exhibit  the  contrast  between 
the  hair  and  the  flesh-tones,  and  to  set  in  full  relief 
the  exuberance  of  life  and  love.  Brunettes  themselves 
are  fair  at  such  times,  with  the  amber  colors  of  matur- 
ity. Besides,  such  women  reveal  in  their  smiles  and 
display  in  their  words  a  knowledge  of  the  world ;  they 
know  how  to  converse;  they  can  call  up  the  whole  of 
social  life  to  make  a  lover  laugh;  their  dignity  and 
their  pride  are  stupendous ;  or,  in  other  moods,  they 
can  utter  despairing  cries  which  touch  his  soul,  fare- 
wells of  love  which  they  take  care  to  render  useless, 
and  only  make  to  intensify  his  passion.  Their  devo- 
tions are  absolute ;  they  listen  to  us ;  they  love  us ;  they 
catch,  they  cling  to  love  as  a  man  condemned  to  death 
clings  to  the  veriest  trifles  of  existence,  —  in  short, 
love,  absolute  love,  is  known  only  through  them.  I 
think  such  women  can  never  be  forgotten  by  a  man, 
any  more  than  he  can  forget  what  is  grand  and  sub- 
lime. A  young  woman  has  a  thousand  distractions; 
these  women  have  none.  No  longer  have  they  self- 
love,  pettiness,  or  vanity ;  their  love  —  it  is  the  Loire 
at  its  mouth,  it  is  vast,  it  is  swelled  by  all  the  illu- 
sions, all  the  affluents  of  life,  and  this  is  why  —  but 
my  muse  is  dumb,"  he  added,  observing  the  ecstatic 
attitude  of  Mademoiselle  des  Touches,  who  was  press- 
ing Calyste's  hand  with  all  her  strength,  perhaps  to 
thank  him  for  having  been  the  occasion  of  such  a 
moment,  of  such  an  eulogy,  so  lofty  that  she  did  not 
see  the  trap  that  it  laid  for  her. 

During  the  rest  of  the  evening  Claude  Vignon  and 


140  Beatrix. 

Felicite  sparkled  with  wit  and  happy  sayings;  they 
told  anecdotes,  and  described  Parisian  life  to  Calyste, 
who  was  charmed  with  Claude,  for  mind  has  immense 
seductions  for  persons  who  are  all  heart. 

''I  should  n't  be  surprised  to  see  the  Marquise  de 
Rochefide  and  Conti,  who,  of  course,  will  accompany 
her,  at  the  lanjcling-place  to-morrow,"  said  Claude 
Vignon,  as  the  evening  ended.  "When  I  was  at 
Croisic  this  afternoon,  the  fishermen  were  saying 
that  they  had  seen  a  little  vessel,  Danish,  Swedish, 
or  Norwegian,   in  the  offing." 

This  speech  brought  a  flush  to  the  cheeks  of  the  im- 
passible Camille. 

Again  Madame  du  Guenic  sat  up  till  one  o'clock 
that  night,  waiting  for  her  son,  unable  to  imagine  why 
he  should  stay  so  late  if  Mademoiselle  des  Touches 
did  not  love  him. 

"He  must  be  in  their  way,"  said  this  adorable 
mother.  "What  were  you  talking  about?  "  she  asked, 
when  at  last  he  came  in. 

"Oh,  mother,  I  have  never  before  spent  such  a 
delightful  evening.  Genius  is  a  great,  a  sublime 
thing!  Why  didn't  you:  give  me  genius?  With 
genius  we  can  make  our  lives,  we  can  choose  among 
all  women  the  woman  to  love,  and  she  must  be  ours." 

"How  handsome  you  are,  my  Calyste! " 

"Claude  Vignon  is  handsome.  Men  of  genius  have 
luminous  foreheads  and  eyes,  through  which  the  light- 
nings flash  —  but  I,  alas !  I  know  nothing  —  only  to 
love." 

"They  say  that  suffices,  my  angel,"  she  said,  kiss- 
ing him  on  the  forehead. 


Beatrix,  141 

"Do  you  believe  it?  " 

"They  say  so,  but  I  have  never  known  it." 

Calyste  kissed  his  mother's  hand  as  if  it  was  a 
Sacred  thing. 

"I  will  love  you  for  all  those  that  would  have  adored 
you,"  he  said. 

"Dear  child!  perhaps  it  is  a  little  bit  your  duty  to 
do  so,  for  you  inherit  my  nature.  But,  Calyste,  do  not 
be  unwise,  imprudent ;  try  to  love  only  noble  women, 
if  love  you  must." 


142  Beatrix. 


IX. 


A   FIRST   MEETING. 

What  young  man  full  of  abounding  but  restrained 
life  and  emotion  would  not  have  had  the  glorious  idea 
of  going  to  Croisic  to  see  Madame  de  Rochefide  land, 
and  examine  her  incognito?  Calyste  greatly  surprised 
his  father  and  mother  by  going  off  in  the  morning 
without  waiting  for  the  mid-day  breakfast.  Heaven 
knows  with  what  agility  the  young  Breton's  feet  sped 
along.  Some  unknown  vigor  seemed  lent  to  him ;  he 
walked  on  air,  gliding  along  by  the  walls  of  Les 
Touches  that  he  might  not  be  seen  from  the  house. 
The  adorable  boy  was  ashamed  of  his  ardor,  and  afraid 
of  being  laughed  at ;  Felicite  and  Vignon  were  so  per- 
spicacious !  besides,  in  such  cases  young  fellows  fancy 
that  their  foreheads  are  transparent. 

He  reached  the  shore,  strengthened  by  a  stone  em- 
bankment, at  the  foot  of  which  is  a  house  where 
travellers  can  take  shelter  in  storms  of  wind  or  rain. 
It  is  not  always  possible  to  cross  the  little  arm  of  the 
sea  which  separates  the  landing-place  of  Guerande 
from  Croisic ;  the  weather  may  be  bad,  or  the  boats  not 
ready ;  and  during  this  time  of  waiting,  it  is  necessary 
to  put  not  only  the  passengers  but  their  horses, 
donkeys,,  baggage,  and  merchandise  under  cover. 

Calyste  presently  saw  two  boats  coming  over  from 


Beatrix,  143 

Croisic,  laden  with  baggage,  —  trunks,  packages,  bags, 
and  chests,  —  the  shape  and  appearance  of  which  proved 
to  a  native  of  these  parts  that  such  extraordinary  articles 
must  belong  to  travellers  of  distinction.  In  one  of  the 
boats  was  a  young  woman  in  a  straw  bonnet  with  a 
green  veil,  accompanied  by  a  man.  This  boat  was  the 
first  to  arrive.  Calyste  trembled  until  on  closer  view 
he  saw  they  were  a  maid  and  a  man-servant. 

*'  Are  you  going  over  to  Croisic,  Monsieur  Calyste?  " 
said  one  of  the  boatmen ;  to  whom  he  replied  with  a 
shake  of  the  head,  annoyed  at  being  called  by  his  name. 

He  was  captivated  by  the  sight  of  a  chest  covered 
with  tarred  cloth  on  which  were  painted  the  words, 
Mme.  la  Marquise  de  Rochefide.  The  name  shone 
before  him  like  a  talisman ;  he  fancied  there  was  some- 
thing fateful  in  it.  He  knew  in  some  mysterious  way, 
which  he  could  not  doubt,  that  he  should  love  that 
woman.  Why?  In  the  burning  desert  of  his  new  and 
infinite  desires,  still  vague  and  without  an  object,  his 
fancy  fastened  with  all  its  strength  on  the  first  woman 
that  presented  herself.  Beatrix  necessarily  inherited 
the  love  which  Camille  had  rejected. 

Calyste  watched  the  landing  of  the  luggage,  casting 
from  time  to  time  a  glance  at  Croisic,  from  which  he 
hoped  to  see  another  boat  put  out  to  cross  to  the  little 
promontory,  and  show  him  Beatrix,  already  to  his 
thoughts  what  lieatrice  was  to  Dante,  a  marble  statue 
on  which  to  hang  his  garlands  and  his  flowers.  He 
stood  with  arms  folded,  lost  in  meditation.  Here  is  a 
fact  worthy  of  remark,  which,  nevertheless,  has  never 
been  remarked :  we  often  subject  ourselves  to  senti- 
ments by  our  own  volition, — deliberately  bind   our- 


144  Beatrix, 

selves,  and  create  our  own  fate;  chance  has  not  as 
much  to  do  with  it  as  we  believe. 

"  1  don't  see  any  horses,"  said  the  maid  sitting  on  a 
trunk. 

'•'-  And  I  don't  see  any  road,"  said  the  footman. 

■  ''Horses  have  been  here,  though,"  replied  the 
woman,  pointing  to  the  proofs  of  their  presence. 
"Monsieur,"  she  said,  addressing  Calyste,  ''is  this 
really  the  way  to  Guerande  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  he  replied,  "  are  you  expecting  some  one  to 
meet  you  ?  " 

"  We  were  told  that  they  would  fetch  us  from  Les 
Touches.  If  the}^  don't  come,"  she  added  to  the  foot- 
man, "  I  don't  know  how  Madame  la  marquise  will 
manage  to  dress  for  dinner.  You  had  better  go  and 
find  Mademoiselle  des  Touches.  Oh !  what  a  land  of 
savages ! " 

Calyste  had  a  vague  idea  of  having  blundered. 

"Is  your  mistress  going  to  Les  Touches?"  he 
inquired. 

* '  She  is  there ;  Mademoiselle  came  for  her  this 
morning  at  seven  o'clock.  Ah!  here  come  the 
horses." 

Calyste  started  toward  Guerande  with  the  lightness 
and  agility  of  a  chamois,  doubling  like  a  hare  that  he 
might  not  return  upon  his  tracks  or  meet  any  of  the 
servants  of  Les  Touches.  He  did,  however,  meet  two 
of  them  on  the  narrow  causeway  of  the  marsh  along 
which  he  went. 

"  Shall  I  go  in,  or  shall  I  not?  "  he  thought  when 
the  pines  of  Les  Touches  came  in  sight.  He  was 
afraid ;    and    continued    his    way    rather    sulkily    to 


Beatrix,  145 

Guerande,  where  he  finished  his  excursion  on  the  mall 
and  continued  his  reflections. 

''  She  has  no  idea  of  my  agitation,"  he  said  to  himself. 

His  capricious  thoughts  were  so  many  grapnels 
which  fastened  his  heart  to  the  marquise.  He  had 
known  none  of  these  mysterious  terrors  and  joys  in  his 
intercourse  with  Camille.  Such  vague  emotions  rise 
like  poems  in  the  untutored  soul.  Warmed  by  the  first 
fires  of  imagination,  souls  like  his  have  been  known  to 
pass  through  all  phases  of  preparation  and  to  reach  in 
silence  and  solitude  the  very  heights  of  love,  without 
having  met  the  object  of  so  many  efforts. 

Presently  Calyste  saw,  coming  toward  him,  the 
Chevalier  du  Halga  and  Mademoiselle  de  Pen-Hoel, 
who  were  walking  together  on  the  mall.  He  heard 
them  say  his  name,  and  he  slipped  aside  out  of  sight, 
but  not  out  of  hearing.  The  chevalier  and  the  old 
maid,  believing  themselves  alone,  were  talking  aloud. 

"If  Charlotte  de  Kergarouet  comes,"  said  the 
chevalier,  ''  keep  her  four  or  five  months.  How  can 
you  expect  her  to  coquette  with  Calyste?  She  is  never 
here  long  enough  to  undertake  it.  Whereas,  if  they 
see  each  other  every  day,  those  two  children  will  fall 
in  love,  and  you  can  marry  them  next  winter.  If  you 
say  two  words  about  it  to  Charlotte  she'll  say  four  to 
Calyste,  and  a  girl  of  sixteen  can  certainly  carry  off 
the  prize  from  a  woman  of  forty." 

Here  the  old  people  turned  to  retrace  their  steps  and 
Calyste  heard  no  more.  But  remembering  what  his 
mother  had  told  him,  he  saw  Mademoiselle  de  Pen- 
Hoel's  intention,  and,  in  the  mood  in  which  he  then  was, 
nothing  could  have  been  more  fatal.    The  mere  idea  of  a 

10 


146  Beatrix. 

girl  thus  imposed  upon  him  sent  him  with  greater  ardor 
into  his  imaginary  love.  He  had  never  had  a  fancy 
for  Charlotte  de  Kergarouet,  and  he  now  felt  repug- 
nance at  the  very  thought  of  her.  Calyste  was  quite 
unaffected  by  questions  of  fortune ;  from  infancy  he 
had  accustomed  his  life  to  the  poverty  and  the  restricted 
means  of  his  father's  house.  A  young  man  brought  up 
as  he  had  been,  and  now  partially  emancipated,  was 
likely  to  consider  sentiments  only,  and  all  his  senti- 
ments, all  his  thought  now  belonged  to  the  marquise. 
In  presence  of  the  portrait  which  Camille  had  drawn 
for  him  of  her  friend,  what  was  that  little  Charlotte  ? 
the  companion  of  his  childhood,  whom  he  thought  of  as 
a  sister. 

He  did  not  go  home  till  five  in  the  afternoon.  As  he 
entered  the  hall  his  mother  gave  him,  with  a  rather  sad 
smile,  the  following  letter  from  Mademoiselle  des 
Touches :  — 

My  dear  Calyste,  —  The  beautiful  marquise  has 
come ;  we  count  on  you  to  help  us  celebrate  her 
arrival.  Claude,  always  sarcastic,  declares  that  you 
will  play  Bice  and  that  she  will  be  Dante.  It  is  for  our 
honor  as  Bretons,  and  yours  as  a  du  Guenic  to  wel- 
come a  Casteran.     Come  soon. 

Your  friend,  Camille  Maupin. 

Come  as  you  are,  without  ceremony ;  otherwise  you 
will  put  us  to  the  blush. 

Calyste  gave  the  letter  to  his  mother  and  departed. 
"Who  are  the  Casterans?  "  said  Fanny  to  the  baron. 
''  An  old  Norman  family,  allied  to  William  the  Con- 


Beatrix.  147 

(]ueror,"  he  replied.  *'  They  hear  on  a  shield  tiered 
fessed  azure,  gules  and  sable,  a  horse  rearing  argent, 
shod  with  gold.  That  beautiful  creature  for  whom  the 
Gars  was  killed  at  Fougeres  in  1800  was  the  daughter 
of  a  Casteran  who  made  herself  a  nun,  and  became  an 
abbess  after  tiie  Due  de  Verneuil  deserted  her." 

''And  the  Rochefides?" 

''I  don't  know  that  name.  I  should  have  to  see 
their  blazon,"  he  replied. 

The  baroness  was  somewhat  reassured  on  hearing 
that  the  Marquise  de  Rochefide  was  born  of  a  noble 
family,  but  she  felt  that  her  son  was  now  exposed  to 
new  seductions. 

Calyste  as  he  walked  along  felt  all  sorts  of  violent 
and  yet  soft  inward  movements ;  his  throat  was  tight, 
his  heart  swelled,  his  brain  was  full,  a  fever  possessed 
him.  He  tried  to  walk  slowly,  but  some  superior 
power  hurried  him.  This  impetuosity  of  the  several 
senses  excited  by  vague  expectation  is  known  to  all 
young  men.  A  subtile  fire  flames  within  their  breasts 
and  darts  outwardly  about  them,  like  the  rays  of  a 
nimbus  around  the  heads  of  divine  personages  in  works 
of  religious  art ;  through  it  they  see  all  Nature  glorious, 
and  woman  radiant.  Are  they  not  then  like  those 
haloed  saints,  full  of  faith,  hope,  ardor,  purity? 

The  young  Breton  found  the  company  assembled  in 
the  little  salon  of  Camille's  suite  of  rooms.  It  was 
then  about  six  o'clock  ;  the  sun,  in  setting,  cast  through 
the  windows  its  ruddy  light  chequered  by  the  trees ;  the 
air  was  still ;  twilight,  beloved  of  women,  was  spread- 
ing through  the  room. 

"  Here  comes  the  future  deputy  of  Brittany,"  said 


148  Beatrix, 

Camille  Maupin,  smiling,  as  Calyste  raised  the  tapestry 
portiere,  —  ''  punctual  as  a  king." 

"You  recognized  his  step  just  now,"  said  Claude  to 
Felicite  in  a  low  voice. 

Calyste  bowed  low  to  the  marquise,  who  returned  the 
salutation  with  an  inclination  of  her  head ;  he  did  not 
look  at  her;  but  he  took  the  hand  Claude  Vignon  held 
out  to  him  and  pressed  it. 

"This  is  the  celebrated  man  of  whom  we  have 
talked  so  much,  Gennaro  Conti,"  said  Camille,  not  re- 
plying to  Claude  Vignon's  remark. 

She  presented  to  Calyste  a  man  of  medium  height, 
thin  and  slender,  with  chestnut  hair,  eyes  that  were  al- 
most red,  and  a  white  skin,  freckled  here  and  there, 
whose  head  was  so  precisely  the  well-known  head  of 
Lord  Byron  (though  rather  better  carried  on  his 
shoulders)  that  description  is  superfluous.  Conti  was 
rather  proud  of  this  resemblance. 

"lam  fortunate,"  he  said,  "to  meet  Monsieur  du 
Guenic  during  the  one  day  that  I  spend  at  Les 
Touches." 

"  It  was  for  me  to  say  that  to  you,"  replied  Calyste, 
with  a  certain  ease. 

"  He  is  handsome  as  an  angel,"  said  the  marquise  in 
an  under  tone  to  Felicite. 

Standing  between  the  sofa  and  the  two  ladies, 
Calyste  heard  the  words  confusedly.  He  seated  him- 
self in  an  arm-chair  and  looked  furtively  toward  the 
marquise.  In  the  soft  half-light  he  saw,  reclining  on  a 
divan,  as  if  a  sculptor  had  placed  it  there,  a  white  and 
serpentine  shape  which  thrilled  him.  Without  being 
aware  of  it,   Felicite   had  done  her  friend  a  service; 


Biatrix,  149 

the  marquise  was  much  superior  to  the  unflattered 
portrait  Camille  had  drawn  of  her  the  night  before. 
Was  it  to  do  honor  to  the  guest  that  Beatrix  had  wound 
into  her  hair  those  tufts  of  blue-bells  that  gave  value  to 
the  pale  tints  of  her  creped  curls,  so  arranged  as  to 
fall  around  her  face  and  play  upon  the  cheeks?  The 
circle  of  her  eyes,  which  showed  fatigue,  was  of  the 
purest  mother-of-pearl,  her  skin  was  as  dazzling  as 
the  eyes,  and  beneath  its  whiteness,  delicate  as  the 
satiny  lining  of  an  egg,  life  abounded  in  the  beautiful 
blue  veins.  The  delicacy  of  the  features  was  extreme ; 
the  forehead  seemed  diaphanous.  The  head,  so  sweet 
and  fragrant,  admirably  joined  to  a  long  neck  of  ex- 
quisite moulding,  lent  itself  to  many  and  most  diverse 
expressions.  The  waist,  which  could  be  spanned  by 
the  hands,  had  a  charming  willowy  ease ;  the  bare 
shoulders  sparkled  in  the  twilight  like  a  white  camellia. 
The  throat,  visible  to  the  eye  though  covered  with  a 
transparent  fichu,  allowed  the  graceful  outlines  of  the 
bosom  to  be  seen  with  charming  roguishness.  A  gown 
of  white  muslin,  strewn  with  blue  flowers,  made  with 
very  large  sleeves,  a  pointed  body  and  no  belt,  shoes 
with  strings  crossed  on  the  instep  over  Scotch  thread 
stockings,  showed  a  charming  knowledge  of  the  art  of 
dress.  Ear-rings  of  silver  filagree,  miracles  of  Genoese 
jewelry,  destined  no  doubt  to  become  the  fashion,  were 
in  perfect  harmony  with  the  delightful  flow  of  the  soft 
curls  starred  with  blue-bells. 

Calyste's  eager  eye  took  in  these  beauties  at  a 
glance,  and  carved  them  on  his  soul.  The  fair 
Beatrix  and  the  dark  Felicitd  might  have  sat  for  those 
contrasting  portraits  in  ^'keepsakes"  which  English 


150  Beatrix, 

designers  and  engravers  seek  so  persistently.  Here 
were  the  force  and  the  feebleness  of  womanhood  in 
full  development,  a  perfect  antithesis.  These  two 
women  could  never  be  rivals;  each  had  her  own 
empire.  Here  was  the  delicate  campanula,  or  the  lily, 
beside  the  scarlet  poppy;  a  turquoise  near  a  ruby. 
In  a  moment,  as  it  were,  —  at  first  sight,  as  the  saying 
is,  —  Calyste  was  seized  with  a  love  which  crowned  the 
secret  work  of  his  hopes,  his  fears,  his  uncertainties. 
Mademoiselle  des  Touches  had  awakened  his  nature; 
Beatrix  inflamed  both  his  heart  and  thoughts.  The 
young  Breton  suddenly  felt  within  him  a  power  to 
conquer  all  things,  and  yield  to  nothing  that  stood  in 
his  way.  He  looked  at  Conti  with  an  envious, 
gloomy,  savage  rivalry  he  had  never  felt  for  Claude 
Vignon.  He  employed  all  his  strength  to  control 
himself;  but  the  inward  tempest  went  down  as  soon 
as  the  eyes  of  Beatrix  turned  to  him,  and  her  soft 
voice  sounded  in  his  ear.     Dinner  was  announced. 

"Calyste,  give  your  arm  to  the  marquise,"  said 
Mademoiselle  des  Touches,  taking  Conti  with  her 
right  hand,  and  Claude  Vignon  with  her  left,  and 
drawing  back  to  let  the  marquise  pass. 

The  descent  of  that  ancient  staircase  was  to  Calyste 
like  the  moment  of  going  into  battle  for  the  first  time. 
His  heart  failed  him,  he  had  nothing  to  say;  a  slight 
sweat  pearled  upon  his  forehead  and  wet  his  back; 
his  arm  trembled  so  much  that  as  they  reached  the 
lowest  step  the  marquise  said  to  him:  "Is  anything 
the  matter?" 

"Oh!  "  he  replied,  in  a  muffled  tone,  "I  have  never 
seen  any  woman  so  beautiful  as  you,  except  my 
mother,  and  I  am  not  master  of  my  emotions." 


Beatrix,  151 

**But  you  have  Camille  Maupin  before  your  eyes." 

"Ah!  what  a  difference!"  said  Calyste,  ingenu- 
ously. 

"Calyste,"  whispered  Felicite,  who  was  just  behind 
him,  "did  I  not  tell  you  that  you  would  forget  me  as 
if  I  had  never  existed?  Sit  there,"  she  said  aloud, 
"beside  the  marquise,  on  her  right,  and  you,  Claude, 
on  her  left.  As  for  you,  Gennaro,  I  retain  you  by  me; 
we  will  keep  a  mutual  eye  on  their  coquetries." 

The  peculiar  accent  which  Camille  gave  to  the  last 
word  struck  Claude  Vignon's  ear,  and  he  cast  that  sly 
but  half-abstracted  look  upon  Camille  which  always 
denoted  in  him  the  closest  obseiTation.  He  never 
ceased  to  examine  Mademoiselle  des  Touches  through- 
out the  dinner. 

^'Coquetries! "  replied  the  marquise,  taking  off  her 
gloves,  and  showing  her  beautiful  hands ;  "  the  oppor- 
tunity is  good,  with  a  poet,"  and  she  motioned  to 
Claude,  "on  one  side,  and  poesy  the  other." 

At  these  words  Conti  turned  and  gave  Calyste  a  look 
that  was  full  of  flattery. 

By  artificial  light,  Beatrix  seemed  more  beautiful 
than  before.  The  white  gleam  of  the  candles  laid  a 
satiny  lustre  on  her  forehead,  lighted  the  spangles  of 
her  eyes,  and  ran  through  her  swaying  curls,  touching 
them  here  and  there  into  gold.  She  threw  back  the 
thin  gauze  scarf  she  was  wearing  and  disclosed  her 
neck.  Calyste  then  saw  its  beautiful  nape,  white  as 
milk,  and  hollowed  near  the  head,  until  its  lines  were 
lost  toward  the  shoulders  with  soft  and  flowing  sym- 
metry. This  neck,  so  dissimilar  to  that  of  Camille, 
was  the  sign  of  a  totally  different  character  in  Beatrix. 


1 52  Beatrix. 

Calyste  found  much  trouble  in  pretending  to  eat; 
nervous  motions  within  him  deprived  him  of  appetite. 
Like  other  young  men,  his  nature  was  in  the  throes 
and  convulsions  which  precede  love,  and  carve  it 
indelibly  on  the  soul.  At  his  age,  the  ardor  of  the 
heart,  restrained  by  moral  ardor,  leads  to  an  inward 
conflict,  which  explains  the  long  and  respectful  hesi- 
tations, the  tender  debatings,  the  absence  of  all  calcu- 
lation, characteristic  of  young  men  whose  hearts  and 
lives  are  pure.  Studying,  though  furtively,  so  as 
not  to  attract  the  notice  of  Conti,  the  various  details 
which  made  the  marquise  so  purely  beautiful,  Calyste 
became,  before  long,  oppressed  by  a  sense  of  her 
majesty;  he  felt  himself  dwarfed  by  the  hauteur  of 
certain  of  her  glances,  by  the  imposing  expression  of 
a  face  that  was  wholly  aristocratic,  by  a  sort  of  pride 
which  women  know  how  to  express  in  slight  motions, 
turns  of  the  head,  and  slow  gestures,  effects  less  plastic 
and  less  studied  than  we  think.  The  false  situation  in 
which  Beatrix  had  placed  herself  compelled  her  to 
watch  her  own  behavior,  and  to  keep  herself  imposing 
without  being  ridiculously  so.  Women  of  the  great 
world  know  how  to  succeed  in  this,  which  proves  a 
fatal  reef  to  vulgar  women. 

The  expression  of  Felicite's  eyes  made  Beatrix 
aware  of  the  inward  adoration  she  inspired  in  the 
youth  beside  her,  and  also  that  it  would  be  most 
unworthy  on  her  part  to  encourage  it.  She  therefore 
took  occasion  now  and  then  to  give  him  a  few  repres- 
sive glances,  which  fell  upon  his  heart  like  an  avalanche 
of  snow.  The  unfortunate  young  fellow  turned  on 
Felicite  a  look  in  which  she  could  read  the  tears  he  was 


Beatrix,  153 

suppressing  by  superhuman  efforts.  She  asked  him  in 
a  friendly  tone  why  he  was  eating  nothing.  The  ques- 
tion piqued  him,  and  he  began  to  force  himself  to  eat 
and  to  take  part  in  the  conversation. 

But  whatever  he  did,  Madame  de  Rochefide  paid 
little  attention  to  him.  Mademoiselle  des  Touches 
having  started  the  topic  of  her  journey  to  Italy  she  re- 
lated, very  wittily,  many  of  its  incidents,  which  made 
Claude  Vignon,  Conti,  and  Felicite  laugh. 

"  Ah !  "  thought  Calyste,  **  how  far  such  a  woman  is 
from  me !     Will  she  ever  deign  to  notice  me?" 

MademoiBcUe  des  Touches  was  struck  with  the  ex- 
pression she  now  saw  on  Calyste's  face,  and  tried  to  con- 
sole him  with  a  look  of  sympathy.  Claude  Vignon 
intercepted  that  look.  From  that  moment  the  great 
critic  expanded  into  gayety  that  overflowed  in  sarcasm. 
He  maintained  to  Beatrix  that  love  existed  only  by 
desire  ;  that  most  women  deceived  themselves  in  loving ; 
that  they  loved  for  reasons  often  unknown  to  men  and 
to  themselves ;  that  they  wanted  to  deceive  themselves, 
and  that  the  best  among  them  were  artful. 

"  Keep  to  books,  and  don't  criticise  our  lives,"  said 
Camille,  glancing  at  him  imperiously. 

The  dinner  ceased  to  be  gay.  Claude  Vignon's  sar- 
casm had  made  the  two  women  pensive.  Calyste  was 
conscious  of  pain  in  the  midst  of  the  happiness  he 
found  in  looking  at  Beatrix.  Conti  looked  into  the 
eyes  of  the  marquise  to  guess  her  thoughts.  When 
dinner  was  over  Mademoiselle  des  Touches  took 
t^alyste's  arm,  gave  the  other  two  men  to  the  mar- 
quise, and  let  them  pass  before  her,  that  she  might 
be  alone  with  the  young  Breton  for  a  moment. 


154  Beatrix. 

"  My  dear  Calyste,"  she  said,  ''  you  are  acting  in  a 
manner  that  embarrasses  the  marquise ;  she  may  be 
delighted  with  your  admiration,  but  she  cannot  accept 
it.     Pray  control  yourself." 

"  She  was  hard  to  me,  she  will  never  care  for  me," 
said  Calyste,  "  and  if  she  does  not  I  shall  die." 

''Die!  you!  My  dear  Calyste,  you  are  a  child. 
Would  you  have  died  for  me  ?  " 

"You  have  made  yourself  my  friend,"  he  answered. 

After  the  talk  that  follows  coffee,  Vignon  asked 
Conti  to  sing  something.  Mademoiselle  des  Touches 
sat^down  to  the  piano.  Together  she  and  Gennaro 
sang  the  Dunque  il  mio  bene  tu  mia  sarai,  the  last  duet 
of  Zingarelli's  "  Romeo  e  Giulietta,"  one  of  the  most 
pathetic  pages  of  modern  music.  The  passage  Di  tantl 
palpiti  expresses  love  in  all  its  grandeur.  Calyste, 
sitting  in  the  same  arm-chair  in  which  Felicite  had 
told  him  the  history  of  the  marquise,  listened  in  rapt 
devotion.  Beatrix  and  Vignon  were  on  either  side  of  the 
piano.  Conti's  sublime  voice  knew  well  how  to  blend 
with  that  of  Felicite.  Both  had  often  sung  this  piece ; 
they  knew  its  resources,  and  they  put  their  whole  mar- 
vellous gift  into  bringing  them  out.  The  music  was 
at  this  moment  what  its  creator  intended,  a  poem  of 
divine  melancholy,  the  farewell  of  two  swans  to  life. 
When  it  was  over,  all  present  were  under  the  influence 
of  feelings  such  as  cannot  express  themselves  by  vulgar 
applause. 

"Ah!  music  is  the  first  of  arts!"  exclaimed  the 
marquise. 

"  Camille  thinks  youth  and  beauty  the  first  of 
poesies,"  said  Claude  Vignon. 

Mademoiselle  des  Touches  looked  at  Claude  with 


Beatrix.  155 

vague  uneasiness.  Beatrix,  not  seeing  Calyste,  turned 
her  head  as  if  to  know  what  effect  the  music  had  pro- 
duced upon  him,  less  by  way  of  interest  in  him 
than  for  the  gratification  of  Conti ;  she  saw  a  white 
face  bathed  in  tears.  At  the  sight,  and  as  if  some 
sudden  pain  had  seized  her,  she  turned  back  quickly 
and  looked  at  Gennaro.  Not  only  had  Music  arisen 
before  the  eyes  of  Calyste,  touching  him  with  her 
divine  wand  until  he  stood  in  presence  of  Creation 
from  which  she  rent  the  veil,  but  he  was  dumfounded 
by  Conti's  genius.  In  spite  of  what  Camille  had  told 
him  of  the  musician's  character,  he  now  believed  in  the 
beauty  of  the  soul,  in  the  heart  that  expressed  such 
love.  How  could  he,  Calyste,  rival  such  an  artist? 
What  woman  would  ever  cease  to  adore  such  genius  ? 
That  voice  entered  the  soul  like  another  soul.  The 
poor  lad  was  overwhelmed  by  its  poesy,  and  his  own 
despair.  He  felt  himself  of  no  account.  This  ingen- 
uous admission  of  his  nothingness  could  be  read  upon 
his  face  mingled  with  his  admiration.  He  did  not 
observe  the  gesture  with  which  Beatrix,  attracted  to 
Calyste  by  the  contagion  of  a  true  feeling,  called 
Felicite's  attention  to  him. 

"  Oh  !  the  adorable  heart !  "  cried  Camille.  "  Conti, 
you  will  never  obtain  applause  of  one-half  the  value  of 
that  child's  homage.  Let  us  sing  this  trio.  Beatrix, 
my  dear,  come." 

When  the  marquise,  Camille,  and  Conti  had  arranged 
themselves  at  the  piano,  Calyste  rose  softly,  without  at- 
tracting their  attention,  and  flung  himself  on  one  of  the 
sofas  in  the  bedroom,  the  door  of  which  stood  open,  where 
he  sat  with  liis  lieiid  in  his  IkiiuIb,  plunged  in  meditation. 


156  Beatrix, 


DRAMA. 

"What  is  it,  my  child?"  said  Claude  Vignon,  who 
had  slipped  silently  into  the  bedroom  after  Calyste, 
and  now  took  him  by  the  hand.  *'  You  love ;  you  think 
you  are  disdained  ;  but  it  is  not  so.  The  field  will  be 
free  to  you  in  a  few  days  and  you  will  reign  —  beloved 
by  more  than  one." 

'•'•  Loved  !  "  cried  Calyste,  springing  up,  and  beckon- 
ing Claude  into  the  library,  ''  Who  loves  me  here?  " 

"  Camille,"  replied  Claude. 

'^  Camille  loves  me  ?     And  you  !  —  what  of  you  ?  " 

•'I  ?  "  answered  Claude,  ''I  —  "  He  stopped  ;  sat 
down  on  a  sofa  and  rested  his  head  with  weary  sadness 
on  a  cushion.  "  I  am  tired  of  life,  but  I  have  not  the 
courage  to  quit  it,"  he  went  on,  after  a  short  silence. 
''  I  wish  I  were  mistaken  in  what  I  have  just  told  you ; 
but  for  the  last  few  days  more  than  one  vivid  light  has 
come  into  my  mind.  I  did  not  wander  about  the 
marshes  for  my  pleasure ;  no,  upon  my  soul  I  did  not ! 
The  bitterness  of  my  words  when  I  returned  and  found 
you  with  Camille  were  the  result  of  wounded  feeling. 
I  intend  to  have  an  explanation  with  her  soon.  Two 
minds  as  clear-sighted  as  hers  and  mine  cannot  deceive 
each  other.  Between  two  such  professional  duellists 
the  combat  cannot  last  long.     Therefore  I  may  as  well 


Beatrix,  157 

tell  you  now  that  I  shall  leave  Les  Touches ;  yes,  to- 
morrow perhaps,  with  Conti.  After  we  are  gone 
strange  things  will  happen  here.  I  shall  regret  not 
witnessing  conflicts  of  passion  of  a  kind  so  rare  in 
France,  and  so  dramatic.  You  are  very  young  to 
enter  such  dangerous  lists ;  you  interest  me ;  were  it 
not  for  the  profound  disgust  I  feel  for  women,  I  would 
stay  and  help  you  play  this  game.  It  is  difficult ;  you 
may  lose  it ;  you  have  to  do  with  two  extraordinary 
women,  and  you  feel  too  much  for  one  to  use  the  other 
judiciously.  Beatrix  is  dogged  by  nature ;  Camille  has 
grandeur.  Probably  you  will  be  wrecked  between 
those  reefs,  drawn  upon  them  by  the  waves  of  passion. 
Beware !  *' 

Calyste's  stupefaction  on  hearing  these  words  en- 
abled Claude  to  say  them  without  interruption  and 
leave  the  young  Breton,  who  remained  like  a  traveller 
among  the  Alps  to  whom  a  guide  has  shown  the  depth 
of  some  abyss  by  flinging  a  stone  into  it.  To  hear 
from  the  lips  of  Claude  himself  that  Camille  loved  him, 
at  the  very  moment  when  he  felt  that  he  loved  Beatrix 
for  life,  was  a  weight  too  heavy  for  his  untried 
soul  to  bear.  Goaded  by  an  immense  regret  which 
now  filled  all  the  past,  overwhelmed  with  a  sight  of  his 
position  between  Beatrix  whom  he  loved  and  Camille 
whom  he  had  ceased  to  love,  the  poor  boy  sat  despair- 
ing and  undecided,  lost  in  thought.  He  sought  in 
vain  for  the  reasons  which  had  made  F^licite  reject  his 
love  and  bring  Claude  Vignon  from  Paris  to  oppose  it. 
Every  now  and  then  the  voice  of  Beatrix  came  fresh 
and  pure  to  his  ears  from  the  little  salon ;  a  savage 
desire  to  rush  in  and  carry  her  off  seized  him  at  such 


158  Beatrix, 

moments.  What  would  become  of  him  ?  What  must  he 
do?  Could  he  come  to  Les  Touches?  If  Camille  loved 
him  how  could  he  come  there  to  adore  Beatrix?  He 
saw  no  solution  to  these  difficulties. 

Insensibly  to  him  silence  now  reigned  in  the  house ; 
he  heard,  but  without  noticing,  the  opening  and  shut- 
ting of  doors.  Then  suddenly  midnight  sounded  on 
the  clock  of  the  adjoining  bedroom,  and  the  voices  of 
Claude  and  Camille  roused  him  fully  from  his  torpid 
contemplation  of  the  future.  Before  he  could  rise  and 
show  himself,  he  heard  the  following  terrible  words  in 
the  voice  of  Claude  Vignon. 

'  *  You  came  to  Paris  last  year  desperately  in  love 
with  Calyste,"  Claude  was  saying  to  Felicite,  "but  you 
were  horrified  at  the  thought  of  the  consequences  of 
such  a  passion  at  your  age ;  it  would  lead  you  to  a 
gulf,  to  hell,  to  suicide  perhaps.  Love  cannot  exist 
unless  it  thinks  itself  eternal,  and  you  saw  not  far 
before  you  a  horrible  parting ;  old  age  you  knew 
would  end  the  glorious  poem  soon.  You  thought  of 
"Adolphe,"  that  dreadful  finale  of  the  loves  of 
Madame  de  Stael  and  Benjamin  Constant,  who,  how- 
ever, were  nearer  of  an  age  than  you  and  Calyste. 
Then  you  took  me,  as  soldiers  use  fascines  to  build 
entrenchments  between  the  enemy  and  themselves. 
You  brought  me  to  Les  Touches  to  mask  your  real  feel- 
ings and  leave  you  safe  to  follow  your  own  secret  adora- 
tion. The  scheme  was  grand  and  ignoble  both ;  but 
to  carry  it  out  you  should  have  chosen  either  a  common 
man  or  one  so  preoccupied  by  noble  thoughts  that  you 
could  easily  deceive  him.  You  thought  me  simple  and 
easy  to  mislead  as  a  man  of  genius.     I  am  not  a  man 


Beatrix,  159 

of  genius,  I  am  a  man  of  talent,  and  as  such  I  have 
divined  you.  When  I  made  that  eulogy  yesterday  on 
women  of  your  age,  explaining  to  you  why  Calyste 
had  ioved  you,  do  you  suppose  I  took  to  myself  your 
ravished,  fascinated,  dazzling  glance?  Had  I  not 
read  into  your  soul?  The  eyes  were  turned  on  me, 
but  the  heart  was  throbbing  for  Calyste.  You  have 
never  been  loved,  my  poor  Maupin,  and  you  never 
will  be  after  rejecting  the  beautiful  fruit  which  chance 
has  offered  to  you  at  the  portals  of  that  hell  of  woman, 
the  lock  of  which  is  the  numeral  50 !  " 

'*  Why  has  love  fled  me?  "  she  said  in  a  low  voice. 
''  Tell  me,  you  who  know  all." 

''  Because  you  are  not  lovable,"  he  answered. 
''  You  do  not  bend  to  love ;  love  must  bend  to  you. 
You  may  perhaps  have  yielded  to  some  follies  of 
youth,  but  there  was  no  youth  in  your  heart;  your 
mind  has  too  much  depth ;  you  have  never  been  naive 
and  artless,  and  you  cannot  begin  to  be  so  now.  Your 
charm  comes  from  mystery ;  it  is  abstract,  not  active. 
Your  strength  repulses  men  of  strength  who  fear  a 
struggle.  Your  power  may  please  young  souls,  like 
that  of  Calyste,  which  like  to  be  protected ;  though, 
even  them  it  wearies  in  the  long  run.  You  are  grand, 
and  you  are  sublime ;  bear  with  the  consequence  of 
those  two  qualities  —  they  fatigue." 

''  What  a  sentence  !  "  cried  Camille.  *'  Am  I  not  a 
woman?     Do  you  think  me  an  anomaly?  " 

** Possibly,"  said  Claude. 

"We  will  see!"  said  the  woman,  stung  to  the 
quick. 

"Farewell,  my  dear  Camille;    I  leave  to-morrow. 


160  Beatrix. 

I  am  not  angry  with  you,  my  dear;  I  think  you  the 
greatest  of  women,  but  if  I  continued  to  serve  you  as 
a  screen,  or  a  shield,"  said  Claude,  with  two  signifi- 
cant inflections  of  his  voice,  ''you  would  despise  me. 
We  can  part  now  without  pain  or  remorse ;  we  have 
neither  happiness  to  regret  nor  hopes  betrayed.  To 
you,  as  with  some  few  but  rare  men  of  genius,  love 
is  not  what  Nature  made  it,  —  an  imperious  need,  to 
the  satisfaction  of  which  she  attaches  great  and 
passing  joys,  which  die.  You  see  love  such  as  Chris- 
tianity has  created  it,  —  an  ideal  kingdom,  full  of  noble 
sentiments,  of  grand  weaknesses,  poesies,  spiritual 
sensations,  devotions  of  moral  fragrance,  entrancing 
harmonies,  placed  high  above  all  vulgar  coarseness, 
to  which  two  creatures  as  one  angel  fly  on  the  wings 
of  pleasure.  This  is  what  I  hoped  to  share;  I 
thought  I  held  in  you  a  key  to  that  door,  closed  to 
so  many,  by  which  we  may  advance  toward  the 
infinite.  You  were  there  already.  In  this  you  have 
misled  me.  I  return  to  my  misery, — to  my  vast 
prison  of  Paris.  Such  a  deception  as  this,  had  it 
come  to  me  earlier  in  life,  would  have  made  me  flee 
from  existence;  to-day  it  puts  into  my  soul  a  disen- 
chantment which  will  plunge  me  forever  into  an  awful 
solitude.  I  am  without  the  faith  which  helped  the 
Fathers  to  people  theirs  with  sacred  images.  It  is 
to  this,  my  dear  Camille,  to  this  that  the  superiority 
of  our  mind  has  brought  us;  we  may,  both  of  us, 
sing  that  dreadful  hymn  which  a  poet  has  put  into  the 
mouth  of  Moses  speaking  to  the  Almighty :  '  Lord 
God,  Thou  hast  made  me  powerful  and  solitary. ' " 
At  this  moment  Calyste  appeared. 


Beatrix,  161 

"I  ought  not  to  leave  you  ignorant  that  I  am  here," 
he  said. 

Mademoiselle  des  Touches  showed  the  utmost  fear; 
a  sudden  flush  colored  her  impassible  face  with  tints 
of  fire.  During  this  strange  scene  she  was  more 
beautiful  than  at  any  other  moment  of  her  life. 

*'We  thought  you  gone,  Calyste,"  said  Claude. 
*'But  this  involuntary  indiscretion  on  both  sides  will 
do  no  harm;  perhaps,  indeed,  you  may  be  more  at 
your  ease  at  Les  Touches  by  knowing  Felicite  as  she 
is.  Her  silence  shows  me  I  am  not  mistaken  as  to 
the  part  she  meant  me  to  play.  As  I  told  you  before, 
she  loves  you,  but  it  is  for  yourself,  not  for  herself,  — 
a  sentiment  that  few  women  are  able  to  conceive  and 
practise;  few  among  them  know  the  voluptuous  pleas- 
ure of  sufferings  born  of  longing,  —  that  is  one  of  the 
magnificent  passions  reserved  for  man.  But  she  is  in 
some  sense  a  man,"  he  added,  sardonically.  "Your 
love  for  Beatrix  will  make  her  suffer  and  make  her 
happy  too." 

Tears  were  in  the  eyes  of  Mademoiselle  des  Touches, 
who  was  unable  to  look  either  at  the  terrible  Vignon 
or  the  ingenuous  Calyste.  She  was  frightened  at 
being  understood;  she  had  supposed  it  impossible  for 
a  man,  however  keen  his  perception,  to  perceive  a 
delicacy  so  self-immolating,  a  heroism  so  lofty  as 
her  own.  Her  evident  humiliation  at  this  unveilinp: 
of  her  grandeur  made  Calyste  share  the  emotion  of 
the  woman  he  had  held  so  high,  and  now  beheld  so 
stricken  down.  He  threw  himself,  from  an  irresistible 
impulse,  at  her  feet,  and  kissed  her  hands,  laying 
liis  face,  covered  with  tears,  upon  them.     > 

11 


162  Beatrix. 

''Claude,"  she  said,  "do  not  abandon  me,  or  what 
will  become  of  me?  " 

"What  have  you  to  fear?"  replied  the  critic. 
"Calyste  has  fallen  in  love  at  first  sight  with  the 
marquise;  you  cannot  find  a  better  barrier  between 
you  than  that.  This  passion  of  his  is  worth  more  to 
you  than  I.  Yesterday  there  might  have  been  some 
danger  for  you  and  for  him;  to-day  you  can  take  a 
maternal  interest  in  him,"  he  said,  with  a  mocking 
smile,  "and  be  proud  of  his  triumphs." 

Mademoiselle  des  Touches  looked  at  Calyste,  who 
had  raised  his  head  abruptly  at  these  words.  Claude 
Vignon  enjoyed,  for  his  sole  vengeance,  the  sight  of 
their  confusion. 

"You  yourself  have  driven  him  to  Madame  de 
Rochefide,"  continued  Claude,  "and  he  is  now  under 
the  spell.  You  have  dug  your  own  grave.  Had  you 
confided  in  me,  you  would  have  escaped  the  sufferings 
that  await  you." 

"Sufferings!"  cried  Camille  Maupin,  taking  Ca- 
lyste's  head  in  her  hands,  and  kissing  his  hair,  on 
which  her  tears  fell  plentifully.  "No,  Calyste;  forget 
what  you  have  heard;  I  count  for  nothing  in  all  this." 

She  rose  and  stood  erect  before  the  two  men,  subdu- 
ing both  with  the  lightning  of  her  eyes,  from  which 
her  soul  shone  out. 

"While  Claude  was  speaking,"  she  said,  "I  con- 
ceived the  beauty  and  the  grandeur  of  love  without 
hope;  it  is  the  sentiment  that  brings  us,nearest  God. 
Do  not  love  me,  Calyste;  but  I  will  love  you  as  no 
woman  will ! " 

It  was  the  cry  of  a  wounded  eagle  seeking  its  eyry. 


Beatrix.  163 

Claude  himself  knelt  down,  took  Camille's  hand,  and 
kissed  it. 

*' Leave  us  now,  Calyste,"  she  said;  *'it  is  late,  and 
your  mother  will  be  uneasy." 

Calyste  returned  to  Guerande  with  lagging  steps, 
turning  again  and  again,  to  see  the  light  from  the 
windows  of  the  room  in  which  was  Beatrix.  He  was 
surprised  himself  to  find  how  little  pity  he  felt  for 
Camille.  But  presently  he  felt  once  more  the  agita- 
tions of  that  scene,  the  tears  she  had  left  upon  his  hair; 
he  suffered  with  her  suffering ;  he  fancied  he  heard  the 
moans  of  that  noble  woman,  so  beloved,  so  desired 
but  a  few  short  days  before. 

When  he  opened  the  door  of  his  paternal  home,  where 
total  silence  reigned,  he  saw  his  mother  through  the 
window,  as  she  sat  sewing  by  the  light  of  the  curiously 
constructed  lamp  while  she  awaited  him.  Tears 
moistened  the  lad*s  eyes  as  he  looked  at  her. 

*'What  has  happened?"  cried  Fanny,  seeing  his 
emotion,  which  filled  her  with  horrible  anxiety. 

For  all  answer,  Calyste  took  his  mother  in  his  arms, 
and  kissed  her  on  her  cheeks,  her  forehead  and  hair, 
with  one  of  those  passionate  effusions  of  feeling  that 
comfort  mothers,  and  fill  them  with  the  subtle  "flames 
of  the  life  they  have  given. 

*'It  is  you  I  love,  you!  "  cried  Calyste,  —  *'you,  who 
live  for  me;  you,  whom  I  long  to  render  happy! '' 

"But  you  are  not  yourself,  my  child,"  said  the 
baroness,  looking  at  him  attentively.  *'What  has 
happened  to  you?" 

''Camilla  loves  me,  but  I  love  her  no  longer,"  he 
answered. 


164  Beatrix. 

The  next  day,  Calyste  told  Gasselin  to  watch  the 
road  to  Saint-Nazaire,  and  let  him  know  if  the  car- 
riage of  Mademoiselle  des  Touches  passed  over  it. 
Gasselin  brought  word  that  the  carriage  had  passed. 

"How  many  persons  were  in  it?"  asked  Calyste. 

''Four,  —  two  ladies  and  two  gentlemen." 

"Then  saddle  my  horse  and  my  father's." 

Gasselin  departed. 

''Why,  nephew,  what  mischief  is  in  you  now?  "  said 
his  Aunt  Zephirine. 

"Let  the  boy  amuse  himself,  sister,"  cried  the 
baron.  "Yesterday  he  was  dull  as  an  owl;  to-day  he 
is  gay  as  a  lark." 

"  Did  you  tell  him  that  our  dear  Charlotte  was  to 
arrive  to-day  ? "  said  Zephirine,  turning  to  her  sis- 
ter-in-law. 

"No,"  replied  the  baroness. 

"I  thought  xDcrhaps  he  was  going  to  meet  her,"  said 
Mademoiselle  du  Guenic,  slyly. 

"If  Charlotte  is  to  stay  three  months  with  her  aunt, 
he  will  have  plenty  of  opportunities  to  see  her,"  said 
his  mother. 

"Mademoiselle  de  Pen-Hoel  wants  me  to  marry 
Charlotte,  to  save  me  from  perdition,"  said  Calyste, 
laughing.  "I  was  on  the  mall  when  she  and  the 
Chevalier  du  Halga  were  talking  about  it.  She  can't 
see  that  it  would  be  greater  perdition  for  me  to  marry 
at  my  age  —  " 

"It  is  written  above,"  said  the  old  maid,  interrupt- 
ing Calyste,  "that  I  shall  not  die  tranquil  or  happy. 
I  wanted  to  see  our  family  continued,  and  some,  at 
least,  of  the  estates  bought  back ;  but  it  is  not  to  be. 


Beatrix,  1 65 

Whnt  can  you,  my  fine  nephew,  put  in  the  scale 
against  such  duties?  Is  it  that  actress  at  Les 
Touches?'* 

''What?"  said  the  baron;  "how  can  Mademoiselle 
des  Touches  hinder  Calyste's  marriage,  when  it  be- 
comes necessary  for  us  to  make  it?  I  shall  go  and 
see  her." 

''I  assure  you,  father,"  said  Calyste,  ''that  Felicite 
will  never  be  an  obstacle  to  my  marriage." 

Gasselin  appeared  with  the  horses. 

"Where  are  you  going,  chevalier?"  said  his  father. 

"To  Saint-Nazaire." 

"Ha,  ha!  and  when  is  the  marriage  to  be?"  said 
the  baron,  believing  that  Calyste  was  really  in  a  hurry 
to  see  Charlotte  de  Kergarouet.  "It  is  high  time  I 
was  a  grandfather.  Spare  the  horses,"  he  continued, 
as  he  went  on  the  portico  with  Fanny  to  see  Calyste 
mount;  "remember  that  they  have  more  than  thirty 
miles  to  go." 

Calyste  started  with  a  tender  farewell  to  his 
mother. 

"Dear  treasure!"  she  said,  as  she  saw  him  lower 
his  head  to  ride  through  the  gateway. 

"God  keep  him!"  replied  the  baron;  "for  we 
cannot  replace  him." 

The  words  made  the  baroness  shudder. 
•  "My  nephew  does  not  love  Charlotte  enough  to  ride 
to  Saint-Nazaire  after  her,"  said  the  old  blind  woman 
to  Mariotte,  who  was  clearing  the  breakfast-table. 

"No;  but  a  fine  lady,  a  marquise,  has  come  to  Les 
Touches,  and  I  '11  warrant  he  *8  after  her;  that 's  the 
way  at  his  age,"  said  Mariotte. 


166  Beatrix, 

"They  '11  kill  him,"  said  Mademoiselle  du  Guenic. 

"That  won't  kill  him,  mademoiselle;  quite  the 
contrary,"  replied  Mariotte,  who  seemed  to  be  pleased 
with  Calyste's  behavior. 

The  young  fellow  started  at  a  great  pace,  until 
Gasselin  asked  him  if  he  was  trying  to  catch  the  boat, 
which,  of  course,  was  not  at  all  his  desire.  He  had 
no  wish  to  see  either  Conti  or  Claude  again ;  but  he 
did  expect  to  be  invited  to  drive  back  with  the  ladies, 
leaving  Gasselin  to  lead  his  horse.  He  was  gay  as  a 
bird,  thinking  to  himself,  — 

^'' She  has  just  passed  here;  her  eyes  saw  those 
trees !  —  What  a  lovely  road !  "  he  said  to  Gasselin. 

"Ah!  monsieur,  Brittany  is  the  most  beautiful 
country  in  all  the  world,"  replied  the  Breton.  "Where 
could  you  find  such  flowers  in  the  hedges,  and  nice 
cool  roads  that  wind  about  like  these  ?  " 

"Nowhere,  Gasselin." 

^'  Tiensf  here  comes  the  coach  from  Nazaire,"  cried 
Gasselin  presently. 

"Mademoiselle  de  Pen-Hoel  and  her  niece  will  be 
in  it.     Let  us  hide,"  said  Calyste. 

"Hide!  are  you  crazy,  monsieur?  Why,  we  are  on 
the  moor ! " 

The  coach,  which  was  coming  up  the  sandy  hill 
above  Saint-Nazaire,  was  full,  and,  much  to  the 
astonishment  of  Calyste,  there  were  no  signs  of 
Charlotte. 

"We  had  to  leave  Mademoiselle  de  Pen-Hoel,  her 
sister  and  niece;  they  are  dreadfully  worried;  but  all 
my  seats  were  engaged  by  the  custom-house,"  said  the 
conductor  to  Gasselin. 


Beatrix,  167 

''I  am  lost! "  thought  Calyste;  *'they  will  meet  me 
down  there." 

When  Calyste  reached  the  little  esplanade  which 
surrounds  the  church  of  Saint-Nazaire,  and  from 
which  is  seen  Paimboeuf  and  the  magnificent  Mouthy 
of  the  Loire  as  they  struggle  with  the  sea,  he  found 
Camille  and  the  marquise  waving  their  handkerchiefs 
as  a  last  adieu  to  two  passengers  on  the  deck  of  the 
departing  steamer.  Beati-ix  was  charming  as  she 
stood  there,  her  features  softened  by  the  shadow  of 
a  rice-straw  hat,  on  which  were  tufts  and  knots  of 
scarlet  ribbon.  She  wore  a  muslin  gown  with  a  pat- 
tern of  flowers,  and  was  leaning  with  one  well-gloved 
hand  on  a  slender  parasol.  Nothing  is  finer  to  the 
eye  than  a  woman  poised  on  a  rock  like  a  statue  on 
its  pedestal.  Conti  could  see  Calyste  from  the  vessel 
as  he  approached  Camille. 

*'l  thought,"  said  the  young  man,  'Hhat  you  would 
probably  come  back  alone." 

'*You  have  done  right,  Calyste,"  she  replied,  press- 
ing his  hand. 

Beatrix  turned  round,  saw  her  young  lover,  and 
gave  him  the  most  imperious  look  in  her  repertory. 
A  smile,  which  the  marquise  detected  on  the  elo- 
quent lips  of  Mademoiselle  des  Touches,  made  her 
aware  of  the  vulgarity  of  such  conduct,  worthy 
only  of  a  bourgeoise.  She  then  said  to  Calyste, 
smiling,  — 

''Are  you  not  guilty  of  a  slight  impertinence  in 
supposing  that  I  should  bore  Camille,  if  left  alone 
with  her?" 

*'My  dear,  one  man   to  two  widows   is  none  too 


168  Beatrix, 

much,"  said  Mademoiselle  des  Touches,  taking 
Calyste's  arm,  and  leaving  Beatrix  to  watch  the  vessel 
till  it  disappeared. 

At  this  moment  Calyste  heard  the  approaching 
voices  of  Mademoiselle  de  Pen-Hoel,  the  Vicomtesse 
de  Kergarouet,  Charlotte,  and  Gasselin,  who  were  all 
talking  at  once,  like  so  many  magpies.  The  old  maid 
was  questioning  Gasselin  as  to  what  had  brought  him 
and  his  master  to  Saint-Nazaire;  the  carriage  of 
Mademoiselle  des  Touches  had  already  caught  her  eye. 
Before  the  young  Breton  could  get  out  of  sight,  Char- 
lotte had  seen  him. 

''Why,  there's  Calyste!"  she  exclaimed  eagerly. 

"Go  and  offer  them  seats  in  my  carriage,"  said 
Camille  to  Calyste;  "the  maid  can  sit  with  the  coach- 
man. I  saw  those  ladies  lose  their  places  in  the  mail- 
coach." 

Calyste,  who  could  not  help  himself,  carried  the 
message.  As  soon  as  Madame  de  Kergarouet  learned 
that  the  offer  came  from  the  celebrated  Camille 
Maupin,  and  that  the  Marquise  de  Rochefide  was  of 
the  party,  she  was  much  surprised  at  the  objections 
raised  by  her  elder  sister,  who  refused  positively  to 
profit  by  what  she  called  the  devil's  carryall.  At 
Nantes,  which  boasted  of  more  civilization  than 
Guerande,  Camille  was  read  and  admired;  she  was 
thought  to  be  the  muse  of  Brittany  and  an  honor  to 
the  region.  The  absolution  granted  to  her  in  Paris 
by  society,  by  fashion,  was  there  justified  by  her 
great  fortune  and  her  early  successes  in  Nantes, 
which  claimed  the  honor  of  having  been,  if  not  her 
birthplace,    at  least    her    cradle.      The  viscountess, 


Beatrix.  169 

therefore,  eager  to  see  her,  dragged  her  old  sister  for- 
ward, paying  no  attention  to  her  jeremiads. 

''Good-morning,  Calyste,"  said  Charlotte. 

*'0h!  good-morning,  Charlotte,"  replied  Calyste, 
not  offering  his  arm. 

Both  were  confused ;  she  by  his  coldness,  he  by  his 
cruelty,  as  they  walked  up  the  sort  of  ravine,  which 
is  called  in  Saint-Nazaire  a  street,  following  the  two 
sisters  in  silence.  In  a  moment  the  little  girl  of  six- 
teen saw  her  castle  in  Spain,  built  and  furnished  with 
romantic  hopes,  a  heap  of  ruins.  She  and  Calyste 
had  played  together  so  much  in  childhood,  she  was  so 
bound  up  with  him,  as  it  were,  that  she  had  quietly 
supposed  her  future  unassailable;  she  arrived  now, 
swept  along  by  thoughtless  happiness,  like  a  circling 
bird  darting  down  upon  a  wheat-field,  and  lo!  she  was 
stopped  in  her  flight,  unable  to  imagine  the  obstacle. 

''What  is  the  matter,  Calyste?"  she  said,  taking 
his  hand. 

"Nothing,"  replied  the  young  man,- releasing  him- 
self with  cruel  haste  as  he  remembered  the  projects 
of  his  aunt  and  her  friend. 

Tears  came  into  Charlotte's  eyes.  She  looked  at 
the  handsome  Calyste  without  ill-humor;  but  a  first 
spasm  of  jealousy  seized  her,  and  she  felt  the  dreadful 
madness  of  rivalry  when  she  came  in  sight  of  the  two 
Parisian  women,  and  suspected  the  cause  of  his 
coldness- 
Charlotte  de  Kergarouet  was  a  girl  of  ordinary 
height,  and  commonplace  coloring;  she  had  a  little 
round  face,  made  lively  by  a  pair  of  black  eyes  which 
sparkled  with  cleverness,    abundant    brown   hair,   a 


170  Beatrix. 

round  waist,  a  flat  back,  thin  arms,  and  the  curt, 
decided  manner  of  a  provincial  girl,  who  did  not  want 
to  be  taken  for  a  little  goose.  She  was  the  petted 
child  of  the  family  on  account  of  the  preference  her 
aunt  showed  for  her.  At  this  moment  she  was 
wrapped  in  a  mantle  of  Scotch  merino  in  large  plaids, 
lined  with  green  silk,  which  she  had  worn  on  the  boat. 
Her  travelling-dress,  of  some  common  stuff,  chastely 
made  with  a  chemisette  body  and  a  pleated  collar,  was 
fated  to  appear,  even  to  her  own  eyes,  horrible  in 
comparison  with  the  fresh  toilets  of  Beatrix  and 
Camille.  She  was  painfully  aware  of  stockings  soiled 
among  the  rocks  as  she  jumped  from  the  boat,  of 
shabby  leather  shoes,  chosen  for  the  purpose  of  not 
spoiling  better  ones  on  the  journey,  —  a  fixed  principle 
in  the  manners  and  customs  of  provincials. 

As  for  the  Vicomtesse  de  Kergarouet,  she  might 
stand  as  the  type  of  a  provincial  woman.  Tall,  hard, 
withered,  full  of  pretensions,  which  did  not  show 
themselves  until  they  were  mortified,  talking  much, 
and  catching,  by  dint  of  talking  (as  one  cannons  at 
billiards),  a  few  ideas,  which  gave  her  the  reputation 
of  wit,  endeavoring  to  humiliate  Parisians,  whenever 
she  met  them,  with  an  assumption  of  country  wisdom 
and  patronage,  humbling  herself  to  be  exalted  and 
furious  at  being  left  upon  her  knees;  fishing,  as  the 
English  say,  for  compliments,  which  she  never  caught; 
dressed  in  clothes  that  were  exaggerated  in  style,  and 
yet  ill  cared  for;  mistaking  want  of  good  manners  for 
dignity,  and  trying  to  embarrass  others  by  paying  no 
attention  to  them ;  refusing  what  she  desired  in  order 
to  have  it  offered  again,  and  to  seem  to  yield  only  to 


BUtrix,  171 

entreaty;  concerned  about  matters  that  others  have 
done  with,  and  surprised  at  not  being  in  the  fashion ; 
and  finally,  unable  to  get  through  an  hour  without 
reference  to  Nantes,  the  tigers  of  Nantes,  matters  of 
social  life  in  Nantes,  complaints  of  Nantes,  criticism 
of  Nantes,  and  taking  as  personalities  the  remarks 
she  forced  out  of  absent-minded  or  wearied  listeners. 

Her  manners,  language,  and  ideas  had,  more  or  less, 
descended  to  her  four  daughters.  To  know  Camille 
Maupin  and  Madame  de  Rochefide  would  be  for  her  a 
future,  and  the  topic  of  a  hundred  conversations. 
Consequently,  she  advanced  toward  the  church  as  if 
she  meant  to  take  it  by  assault,  waving  her  handker- 
chief, unfolded  for  the  purpose  of  displaying  the 
heavy  corners  of  domestic  embroidery,  and  trimmed 
with  flimsy  lace.  Her  gait  was  tolerably  bold  and 
cavalier,  which,  however,  was  of  no  consequence  in  a 
woman  forty-seven  years  of  age. 

*' Monsieur  le  chevalier,"  she  said  to  Camille  and 
Beatrix,  pointing  to  Calyste,  who  was  mournfully 
following  with  Charlotte,  ''has  conveyed  to  me  your 
friendly  proposal,  but  we  fear  —  my  sister,  my  daugh- 
ter, and  myself  —  to  inconvenience  you." 

''Sister,  I  shall  not  put  these  ladies  to  inconven- 
ience," said  Mademoiselle  de  Pen-Hoel,  sharply;  "I 
can  very  well  find  a  horse  in  Saint-Nazaire  to  take 
me  home." 

Camille  and  Beatrix  exchanged  an  oblique  glance, 
which  Calyste  intercepted,  and  that  glance  sufficed  to 
annihilate  all  the  memories  of  his  childhood,  all  his 
beliefs  in  the  Kergarouets  and  Pen-Hoels,  and  to  put 
an  end  forever  to  the  projects  of  the  three  families. 


172  Beatrix. 

•■'We  can  very  well  put  five  in  the  carriage,"  replied 
Mademoiselle  des  Touches,  on  whom  Jaqueline  turned 
her  back,  "even  if  we  were  inconvenienced,  which 
cannot  be  the  case,  with  your  slender  figures.  Be- 
sides, I  should  enjoy  the  pleasure  of  doing  a  little 
service  to  Calyste's  friends.  Your  maid,  madame, 
will  find  a  seat  by  the  coachman,  and  your  luggage, 
if  you  have  any,  can  go  behind  the  carriage ;  I  have 
no  footman  with  me." 

The  viscountess  was  overwhelming  in  thanks,  and 
complained  that  her  sister  Jacqueline  had  been  in  such 
a  hurry  to  see  her  niece  that  she  would  not  give  her 
time  to  come  properly  in  her  own  carriage  with  post- 
horses,  though,  to  be  sure,  the  post-road  was  not  only 
longer,  but  more  expensive;  she  herself  was  obliged 
to  return  almost  immediately  to  Nantes,  where  she  had 
left  three  other  little  kittens,  who  were  anxiously 
awaiting  her.  Here  she  put  her  arm  round  Charlotte's 
neck.  Charlotte,  in  reply,  raised  her  eyes  to  »her 
mother  with  the  air  of  a  little  victim,  which  gave  an 
impression  to  onlookers  that  the  viscountess  bored 
her  four  daughters  prodigiously  by  dragging  them  on 
the  scene  very  much  as  Corporal  Trim  produces  his 
cap  in  "Tristram  Shandy." 

''You  are  a  fortunate  mother  and  —  "  began 
Camille,  stopping  short  as  she  remembered  that 
Beatrix  must  have  parted  from  her  son  when  she  left 
her  husband's  house. 

"Oh,  yes!  "  said  the  viscountess;  "if  I  have  the  mis- 
fortune of  spending  my  life  in  the  country,  and,  above 
ail,  at  Nantes,  I  have  at  least  the  consolation  of  being 
adored  by  my  children.  Have  you  children?"  she 
said  to  Camille. 


Biatrix,  173 

"I  am  Mademoiselle  des  Touches,"  replied  Camille. 
"Madame  i^  the  Marquise  de  Roehefide." 

"Then  I  must  pity  you  for  not  knowing  the  greatest 
happiness  that  there  is  for  us  poor,  simple  women  — 
is  not  that  so,  madame?  "  said  the  viscountess,  turning 
to  Beatrix.  "But  you,  mademoiselle,  have  so  many 
compensations." 

The  tears  came  into  Madame  de  Rochefide*s  eyes, 
iuid  she  turned  away  toward  the  parapet  to  hide  them. 
Calyste  followed  her. 

"Madame,"  said  Camille,  in  a  low  voice  to  the 
viscountess,  "are  you  not  aware  that  the  marquise  is 
separated  from  her  husband  ?  She  has  not  seen  her  son 
for  two  years,  and  does  not  know  when  she  will  see 
him." 

"You  don't  say  so!  "  said  Madame  de  Kergarouet. 
"Poor  lady!  is  she  legally  separated?" 

"No,  by  mutual  consent,"  replied  Camille. 

"Ah,  well!  I  understand  that,"  said  the  viscountess 
boldly. 

Old  Mademoiselle  de  Pen-Hoel,  furious  at  being 
thus  dragged  into  the  enemy's  camp,  had  retreated  to 
a  short  distance  with  her  dear  Charlotte.  Calyste, 
after  looking  about  him  to  make  sure  that  no  one 
could  see  him,  seized  the  hand  of  the  marquise,  kissed 
it,  and  left  a  tear  upon  it.  Beatrix  turned  round,  her 
tears  dried  by  anger;  she  was  about  to  utter  some 
terrible  word,  but  it  died  upon  her  lips  as  she  saw 
the  grief  on  the  angelic  face  of  the  youth,  as  deeply 
touched  by  her  present  sorrow  as  she  was  herself. 

"Good  heavens,  Calyste!"  said  Camille  in  his  ear, 
as  he  returned  with  Madame  de  Roehefide,  "are  you 


174  Beatrix. 

to  have  that  for  a  mother-in-law,  and  the  little  one 
for  a  wife  ?  " 

"Because  her  aunt  is  rich,"  replied  Calyste,  sarcas- 
tically. 

The  whole  party  now  moved  toward  the  inn,  and 
the  viscountess  felt  herself  obliged  to  make  Camille 
a  speech  on  the  savages  of  Saint-Nazaire. 

''I  love  Brittany,  madame,"  replied  Camille, 
gravely.     ''I  was  born  at  Guerande." 

Calyste  could  not  help  admiring  Mademoiselle  des 
Touches,  who,  by  the  tone  of  her  voice,  the  tran- 
quillity of  her  look,  and  her  quiet  manner,  put  him  at 
his  ease,  in  spite  of  the  terrible  declarations  of  the 
preceding  night.  She  seemed,  however,  a  little 
fatigued;  her  eyes  were  enlarged  by  dark  circles 
round  them,  showing  that  she  had  not  slept;  but 
the  brow  dominated  the  inward  storm  with  cold 
placidity. 

"What  queens!"  he  said  to  Charlotte,  calling  her 
attentioij  to  the  marquise  and  Camille  as  he  gave  the 
girl  his  arm,  to  Mademoiselle  de  Pen-Hoers  great 
satisfaction. 

"What  an  idea  your  mother  has  had,"  said  the  old 
maid,  taking  her  niece's  other  arm,  "to  put  herself  in 
the  company  of  that  reprobate  woman !  " 

"Oh,  aunt,  a  woman  who  is  the  glory  of  Brittany!  '* 

"The  shame,  my  dear.  Mind  that  you  don't  fawn 
upon  her  in  that  way. " 

"Mademoiselle  Charlotte  is  right,"  said  Calyste; 
"you  are  not  just." 

"Oh,  you!"  replied  Mademoiselle  de  Pen-Hoel, 
"she  has  bewitched  you." 


Beatrix,  175 


(( 


I   regard    her,"   said    Calyste,    ''with    the    same 
friendship  that  I  feel  for  you." 

''Since  when  have  the  du  Guenics  taken  to  telling 
lies?"  asked  the  old  maid. 

"Since  the  Pen-Hoels  have  grown  deaf,"  replied 
Calyste. 

"Are  not  you  in  love  with  her?  "  demanded  the  old 
maid. 

"I  have  been,  but  I  am  so  no  longer,"  he  said. 

"Bad  boy!  then  why  have  you  given  us  such  anx- 
iety ?  I  know  very  well  that  love  is  only  foolishness ; 
there  is  nothing  solid  but  marriage,"  she  remarked, 
looking  at  Charlotte. 

Charlotte,    somewhat   reassured,   hoped   to  recover" 
her  advantages  by  recalling  the   memories  of   child- 
hood.    She  leaned  affectionately  on  Calyste's  arm,  who 
resolved  in  his  own  mind  to  have  a  clear  explanation 
wijth  the  little  heiress. 

"Ah!  what  fun  we  shall  have  at  mouche^  Calyste!  " 
she  said ;  "what  good  laughs  we  used  to  have  over  it!  " 

The  horses  were  now  put  in ;  Camille  placed  Madame 
de  Kergarouet  and  Charlotte  on  the  back  seat. 
Jacqueline  having  disappeared,  she  herself,  with  the 
marquise,  sat  forward.  Calyste  was,  of  course, 
obliged  to  relinquish  the  pleasure  on  which  he  had 
counted,  of  driving  back  with  Camille  and  Beatrix, 
but  he  rode  beside  the  carriage  all  the  way ;  the  horses, 
being  tired  with  the  journey,  went  slowly  enough  to 
allow  him  to  keep  his  eyes  on  Beatrix. 

History  must  lose  the  curious  conversation  that 
went  on  between  these  four  persons  whom  accident 
had  so  strangely  united  in  this  carriage,  for  it  is  im- 


176  Beatrix, 

possible  to  report  the  hundred  and  more  versions  which 
went  the  round  of  Nantes  on  the  remarks,  replies, 
and  witticisms  which  the  viscountess  heard  from  the 
lips  of  the  celebrated  Camille  Maupin  herself.  She 
was,  however,  very  careful  not  to  repeat,  not  even  to 
comprehend,  the  actual  replies  made  by  Mademoiselle 
des  Touches  to  her  absurd  questions  about  Camille' s 
authorship,  —  a  penance  to  which  all  authors  are  sub- 
jected, and  which  often  make  them  expiate  the  few 
and  rare  pleasures  that  they  win. 

"How  do  you  write  your  books?  "  she  began. 

"Much  as  you  do  your  worsted- work  or  knitting," 
replied  Camille. 

"But  where  do  you  find  those  deep  reflections, 
those  seductive  pictures  ?  " 

"Where  you  find  the  witty  things  you  say,  madame; 
there  is  nothing  so  easy  as  to  write  books,  provided 
you  will  —  " 

"Ah!  does  it  depend  wholly  on  the  will?  I 
should  n't  have  thought  it.  Which  of  your  composi- 
tions do  you  prefer  ?  " 

"I  find  it  difficult  to  prefer  any  of  my  little  kittens." 

"I  see  you  are  blasee  on  compliments;  there  is  really 
nothing  new  that  one  can  say." 

"I  assure  you,  madame,  that  I  am  very  sensible  to 
the  form  which  you  give  to  yours." 

The  viscountess,  anxious  not  to  seem  to  neglect  the 
marquise,  remarked,  looking  at  Beatrix  with  a 
meaning  air,  — 

"I  shall  never  forget  this  journey  made  between 
Wit  and  Beauty." 

"You    flatter  me,    madame,"   said    the    marquise. 


Beatrix.  177 

laughing.  *'I  assure  you  that  my  wit  is  but  a  smaK 
matter,  not  to  be  mentioned  by  the  side  of  genius; 
l>esides,  I  think  I  have  not  said  much  as  yet." 

Charlotte,  who  keenly  felt  her  mother's  absurdity, 
looked  at  her,  endeavoring  to  stop  its  course;  but 
Madame  de  Kergarouet  went  bravely  on  in  her  tilt 
with  the  satirical  Parisians. 

Calyste,  who  was  trotting  slowly  beside  the  car- 
riage, could  only  see  the  faces  of  the  two  ladies  on 
the  front  seat,  and  his  eyes  expressed,  from  time  to 
time,  rather  painful  thoughts.  Forced,  by  her  posi- 
tion, to  let  herself  be  looked  at,  Beatrix  constantly 
avoided  meeting  the  young  man's  eyes,  and  practised 
a  manoeuvre  most  exasperating  to  lovers ;  she  held  her 
shawl  crossed  and  her  hands  crossed  over  it,  appar- 
ently plunged  in  the  deepest  meditation. 

At  a  part  of  the  road  which  is  shaded,  dewy,  and 
verdant  as  a  forest  glade,  where  the  wheels  of  the 
carriage  scarcely  sounded,  and  the  breeze  brought 
down  balsamic  odors  and  waved  the  branches  above 
their  heads,  Camille  called  Madame  de  Rochefide's 
attention  to  the  harmonies  of  the  place,  and  pressed 
her  knee  to  make  her  look  at  Calyste. 

"How  well  he  rides!  "  she  said. 

'*0h!  Calyste  does  everything  well,"  said  Charlotte. 

*'He  rides  like  an  Englishman,"  said  the  marquise, 
indifferently. 

''His  mother  is  Irish, — an  O'Brien,"  continued 
Charlotte,  who  thought  herself  insulted  by  such  in- 
difference. 

Camille  and  the  marquise  drove  through  Gudrande 
with  the  viscountess  and  her  daughter,  to  the  great 

12 


178  Beatrix, 

astonishment  of  the  inhabitants  of  the  town.  They 
left  the  mother  and  daughter  at  the  end  of  the  lane 
leading  to  the  Guenic  mansion,  where  a  crowd  came 
near  gathering,  attracted  by  so  unusual  a  sight. 
Calyste  had  ridden  on  to  announce  the  arrival  of  the 
company  to  his  mother  and  aunt,  who  expected  them 
to  dinner,  that  meal  having  been  postponed  till  four 
o'clock.  Then  he  returned  to  the  gate  to  give  his 
arm  to  the  two  ladies,  and  bid  Camille  and  Beatrix 
adieu. 

He  kissed  the  hand  of  Felicite,  hoping  thereby  to 
be  able  to  do  the  same  to  that  of  the  marquise ;  but 
she  still  kept  her  arms  crossed  resolutely,  and  he  cast 
moist  glances  of  entreaty  at  her  uselessly. 

''You  little  ninny!  "  whispered  Camille,  lightly 
touching  his  ear  with  a  kiss  that  was  full  of 
friendship. 

"Quite  true,"  thought  Calyste  to  himself  as  the 
carriage  drove  away.  "I  am  forgetting  her  advice 
—  but  I  shall  always  forget  it,  I  'm  afraid." 

Mademoiselle  de  Pen-Hoel  (who  had  intrepidly 
returned  to  Guerande  on  the  back  of  a  hired  horse), 
the  Vicomtesse  de  Kergarouet,  and  Charlotte  found 
dinner  ready,  and  were  treated  with  the  utmost  cor- 
diality, if  luxury  were  lacking,  by  the  du  Guenics. 
Mademoiselle  Zephirine  had  ordered  the  best  wine  to 
be  brought  from  the  cellar,  and  Mariotte  had  sur- 
passed herself  in  her  Breton  dishes. 

The  viscountess,  proud  of  her  trip  with  the  illus- 
trious Camille  Maupin,  endeavored  to  explain  to  the 
assembled  company  the  present  condition  of  modern 
literature,  and  Camille's  place  in  it.     But  the  literary 


Beatrix,  179 

topic  met  the  fate  of  whist;  neither  the  du  Gunnies, 
nor  the  abbe,  nor  the  Chevalier  du  Halga  understood 
one  word  of  it.  The  rector  and  the  chevalier  had 
arrived  in  time  for  the  liqueurs  at  dessert. 

As  soon  as  Mariotte,  assisted  by  Gasselin  and 
Madame  de  Kergarouet's  maid,  had  cleared  the  table, 
there  was  a  general  and  enthusiastic  cry  for  mouche, 
Joy  appeared  to  reign  in  the  household.  All  sup- 
posed Calyste  to  be  free  of  his  late  entanglement,  and 
almost  as  good  as  man-ied  to  the  little  Charlotte. 
The  young  man  alone  kept  silence.  For  the  first  time 
in  his  life  he  had  instituted  comparisons  between  his 
life-long  friends  and  the  two  elegant  women,  witty, 
accomplished,  and  tasteful,  who,  at  the  present  mo- 
ment, must  be  laughing  heartily  at  the  provincial 
mother  and  daughter,  judging  by  the  look  he  inter- 
cepted between  them. 

He  was  seeking  in  vain  for  some  excuse  to  leave 
liis  family  on  this  occasion,  and  go  up  as  usual  to  Les 
Touches,  when  Madame  de  Kergarouet  mentioned  that 
she  regretted  not  having  accepted  Mademoiselle  des 
Touches'  offer  of  her  carriage  for  the  return  journey 
to  Saint-Nazaire,  which,  for  the  sake  of  her  three 
other  "dear  kittens,"  she  felt  compelled  to  make  on 
the  following  day. 

Fanny,  who  alone  saw  her  son's  uneasiness,  and  the 
little  hold  which  Charlotte's  coquetries  and  her 
mother's  attentions  were  gaining  on  him,  came  to  his 
aid. 

*' Madame,"  she  said  to  the  viscountess,  **you  will, 
I  think,  be  very  uncomfortable  in  the  carrier's  vehicle, 
and  especially  at  having  to  start  so  early  in  the  morn- 


180  Beatrix. 

ing.  You  would  certainly  have  done  better  to  take 
the  offer  made  to  you  by  Mademoiselle  des  Touches. 
But  it  is  not  too  late  to  do  so  now.  Calyste,  go  up 
to  Les  Touches  and  arrange  the  matter;  but  don't  be 
long;  return  to  us  soon." 

"It  won't  take  me  ten  minutes,"  cried  Calyste, 
kissing  his  mother  violently  as  she  followed  him  to 
the  door. 


Beatrix.  181 


XI. 


FEMALE   DIPLOMACY. 


Calyste  ran  with  the  lightness  of  a  young  fawn  to 
Les  Touches  and  reached  the  portico  just  as  Camille 
and  Beatrix  were  leaving  the  grand  salon  after  their 
dinner.  He  had  the  sense  to  offer  his  arm  to 
Felicite. 

''  So  you  have  abandoned  your  viscountess  and  her 
daughter  for  us,"  she  said,  pressing  his  arm ;  ''we  are 
able  now  to  understand  the  full  mer^t  of  that 
sacrifice." 

' '  Are  these  Kergarouets  related  to  the  Portendueres, 
and  to  old  Admiral  de  Kergarouet,  whose  widow 
married  Charles  de  Vandenesse?"  asked  Madame  de 
Rochefide, 

"  The  viscountess  is  the  admiral's  great*niece,"  re- 
plied Camille. 

''  Well,  she  's  a  charming  girl,"  said  Beatrix,  placing 
herself  gracefully  in  a  Gothic  chair.  "  She  will  just  do 
for  you.  Monsieur  du  Guenic." 

''The  marriage  will  never  take  place,"  said  Camille 
hastily. 

Mortified  by  the  cold,  calm  air  with  which  the  mar- 
quise seemed  to  consider  the  Breton  girl  as  the  only 
creature  fit  to  mate  him,  Calyste  remained  speechless 
and  even  mindless. 


182  Beatrix, 

''  Why  so,  Camille?  "  asked  Madame  de  Kochefide. 

"  Really,  my  dear,"  said  Camille,  seeing  Calyste's 
despair,  ''  you  are  not  generous ;  did  I  advise  Conti  to 
marry  ?  " 

Beatrix  looked  at  her  friend  with  a  surprise  that 
was  mingled  with  indefinable  suspicions. 

Calyste,  unable  to  understand  Camille's  motive,  but 
feeling  that  she  came  to  his  assistance  and  seeing  in 
her  cheeks  that  faint  spot  of  color  which  he  knew  to 
mean  the  presence  of  some  violent  emotion,  went  up  to 
her  rather  awkwardly  and  took  her  hand.  But  she 
left  him  and  seated  herself  carelessly  at  the  piano,  like 
a  woman  so  sure  of  her  friend  and  lover  that  she  can 
afford  to  leave  him  with  another  woman.  She  played 
variations,  improvising  them  as  she  played,  on  certain 
themes  chosen,  unconsciously  to  herself,  by  the  impulse 
of  her  mind ;  they  were  melancholy  in  the  extreme. 

Beatrix  seemed  to  listen  to  the  music,  but  she  was 
really  observing  Calyste,  who,  much  too  young  and 
artless  for  the  part  which  Camille  was  intending  him  to 
play,  remained  in  rapt  adoration  before  his  real  idol. 

After  about  an  hour,  during  which  time  Camille  con- 
tinued to  play,  Beatrix  rose  and  retired  to  her  apart- 
ments. Camille  at  once  took  Calyste  into  her  chamber 
and  closed  the  door,  fearing  to  be  overheard ;  for 
women  have  an  amazing  instinct  of  distrust. 

*'My  child,"  she  said,  ''if  you  want  to  succeed 
with  Beatrix,  you  must  seem  to  love  me  still,  or  you 
will  fail.  You  are  a  child ;  you  know  nothing  of 
women  ;  all  you  know  is  how  to  love.  Now  loving  and 
making  one's  self  beloved  are  two  very  different  things. 
If  you  go  your  own  way  you  will  fall  into  horrible  suf- 


Beatrix.  183 

fering,  and  I  wish  to  see  you  happy.  If  you  rouse, 
not  the  pride,  but  the  self-will,  the  obstinacy  which  is 
a  strong  feature  in  her  character,  she  is  capable  of 
going  off  at  any  moment  to  Paris  and  rejoining  Conti ; 
and  what  will  you  do  then?  " 

*'I  shall  love  her." 

"  You  won't  see  her  again." 

''Oh!  yes,  I  shall,"  he  said. 

*'How?" 

"  I  shall  follow  her." 

*'  Why,  you  are  as  poor  as  Job,  my  dear  boy." 

*'  My  father,  Gasselin,  and  I  lived  for  three  months 
in  Vendue  on  one  hundred  and  fifty  francs,  marching 
night  and  day." 

''Calyste,"  said  Mademoiselle  des  Touches,  "now 
listen  to  me.  I  know  that  you  have  too  much  candor 
to  play  a  part,  too  much  honesty  to  deceive ;  and  I 
don't  want  to  corrupt  such  a  nature  as  yours.  Yet 
deception  is  the  only  way  by  which  you  can  win 
Beatrix  ;  I  take  it  therefore  upon  myself.  In  a  week 
from  now  she  shall  love  you." 

"Is  it  possible?  "  he  said  clasping  his  hands. 

*'  Yes,"  replied  Camille,  "  but  it  will  be  necessary  to 
overcome  certain  pledges  which  she  has  made  to  her- 
self. I  will  do  that  for  you.  You  must  not  interfere 
in  the  rather  arduouiB  task  I  shall  undertake.  The 
marquise  has  a  true  aristocratic  delicacy  of  perception  ; 
she  is  keenly  distrustful ;  no  hunter  could  meet  with 
game  more  wary  or  more  difficult  to  capture.  You  are 
wholly  unable  to  cope  with  her ;  will  you  promise  me  a 
blind  obedience?" 

*'  What  must  I  do?  "  replied  the  youth. 


184  Beatrix. 

"Very  little,"  said  Camille.  *'Come  here  every 
day  and  devote  yourself  to  me.  Come  to  ray  rooms ; 
avoid  Beatrix  if  you  meet  her.  We  will  stay  together 
till  four  o'clock ;  you  shall  employ  the  time  in  study, 
and  I  in  smoking.  It  will  be  hard  for  you  not  to  see 
her,  but  I  will  find  you  a  number  of  interesting  books. 
You  have  read  nothing  as  yet  of  George  Sand.  I  will 
send  one  of  my  people  this  very  evening  to  Nantes  to 
buy  her  works  and  those  of  other  authors  whom  you 
ought  to  know.  The  evenings  we  will  all  spend  to- 
gether, and  I  permit  you  to  make  love  to  me  if  you  can 
—  it  will  be  for  the  best." 

''I  know,  Camille,  that  your  affection  for  me  is 
great  and  so  rare  that  it  makes  me  wish  I  had  never 
met  Beatrix,"  he  replied  with  simple  good  faith ;  "  but 
I  don't  see  what  you  hope  from  all  this." 

"  I  hope  to  make  her  love  you." 

"  Good  heavens  !  it  cannot  be  possible!  "  he  cried, 
again  clasping  his  hands  toward  Camille,  who  was 
greatly  moved  on  seeing  the  joy  that  she  gave  him  at 
her  own  expense. 

''Now  listen  to  me  carefully,"  she  said.  "If  you 
break  the  agreement  between  us,  if  you  have  —  not  a 
long  conversation — but  a  mere  exchange  of  words 
with  the  marquise  in  private,  if  you  let  her  question 
you,  if  you  fail  in  the  silent  part  I  ask  you  to  play, 
which  is  certainly  not  a  very  difficult  one,  I  do  assure 
you,"  she  said  in  a  serious  tone,  "you  will  lose  her 
forever. " 

"  I  don't  understand  the  meaning  of  what  you  are 
saying  to  me,"  cried  Calyste,  looking  at  Camille  with 
ad6rable  naivete. 


Beatrix.  185 

*'  If  you  did  understand  it,  you  would  n't  be  the 
noble  and  beautiful  Calyste  that  you  are,"  she  replied, 
taking  his  hand  and  kissing  it. 

Calyste  then  did  what  he  had  never  before  done ;  he 
took  Camille  round  the  waist  and  kissed  her  gently, 
not  with  love  but  with  tenderness,  as  he  kissed  his 
mother.  Mademoiselle  des  Touches  did  not  restrain 
her  tears. 

*'  Go  now,"  she  said,  '*  my  child  ;  and  tell  your  vis- 
countess that  my  carriage  is  at  her  command." 

Calyste  wanted  to  stay  longer,  but  he  was  forced  to 
obey  her  imperious  and  imperative  gesture. 

He  went  home  gayly ;  he  believed  that  in  a  week  the 
beautiful  Beatrix  would  love  him.  The  players  at 
mouche  found  him  once  more  the  Calyste  they  had 
missed  for  the  last  two  months.  Charlotte  attributed 
this  change  to  herself.  Mademoiselle  de  Pen-Hoel 
was  charming  to  him.  The  Abbe  Grimont  endeavored 
to  make  out  what  was  passing  in  the  mother's  mind. 
The  Chevalier  du  Halga  rubbed  his  hands.  The  two 
old  maids  were  as  lively  as  lizards.  The  viscountess 
lost  one  hundred  sous  by  accumulated  moiiches^  which 
so  excited  the  cupidity  of  Zephirine  that  she  regretted 
not  being  able  to  see  the  cards,  and  even  spoke  sharply 
to  her  sister-in-law,  who  acted  as  the  proxy  of  her 
eyes. 

The  party  lasted  till  eleven  o'clock.  There  were 
two  defections,  the  barou  and  the  chevalier,  who  went 
to  sleep  in  their  respective  chairs.  Mariotte  had  made 
galettes  of  buckwheat,  the  baroness  produced  a  tea- 
caddy.  The  illustrious  house  of  du  Guenic  served  a 
little  supper  before  the  departure  of  its  guests,  consist- 


1 86  Beatrix, 

ing  of  fresh  butter,  fruits,  and  cream,  in  addition  to 
Mariotte's  cakes ;  for  which  festal  event  issued  from 
their  wrappings  a  silver  teapot  and  some  beautiful  old 
English  china  sent  to  the  baroness  by  her  aunts. 
This  appearance  of  modern  splendor  in  the  ancient 
hall,  together  with  the  exquisite  grace  of  its  mistress, 
brought  up  like  a  true  Irish  lady  to  make  and  pour  out 
tea  (that  mighty  affair  to  Englishwomen),  had  some- 
thing charming  about  them.  The  most  exquisite 
luxury  could  never  have  attained  to  the  simple, 
modest,  noble  effect  produced  by  this  sentiment  of 
joyful  hospitality. 

A  few  moments  after  Calyste's  departure  from  Les 
Touches,  Beatrix,  who  had  heard  him  go,  returned  to 
Camille,  whom  she  found  with  humid  eyes  lying  back 
on  her  sofa. 

"What  is  it,  Felicite?"  asked  the  marquise. 

"I  am  forty  years  old,  and  I  love  him!"  said 
Mademoiselle  des  Touches,  with  dreadful  tones  of 
anguish  in  her  voice,  her  eyes  becoming  hard  and 
brilliant.  "If  you  knew,  Beatrix,  the  tears  I  have 
shed  over  the  lost  years  of  my  youth!  To  be  loved 
out  of  pity!  to  know  that  one  owes  one's  happiness 
only  to  perpetual  care,  to  the  slyness  of  cats,  to  traps 
laid  for  innocence  and  all  the  youthful  virtues  — 
oh,  it  is  infamous!  If  it  were  not  that  one  finds 
absolution  in  the  magnitude  of  love,  in  the  power  of 
happiness,  in  the  certainty  of  being  forever  above 
all  other  women  in  his  memory,  the  first  to  carve  on 
that  young  heart  the  ineffaceble  happiness  of  an  abso- 
lute devotion,  I  would :—  yes,  if  he  asked  it,  —  I  would 
fling  myself  into  the  sea.     Sometimes  I  find  myself 


Beatrix,  187 

wishing  that  he  would  ask  it;  it  would  then  be  an 
oblation,  not  a  suicide.  Ah,  Beatrix,  by  coming 
here  you  have,  unconsciously,  set  me  a  hard  task. 
I  know  it  will  be  difficult  to  keep  him  against  you ; 
but  you  love  Conti,  you  are  noble  and  generous,  you 
will  not  deceive  me;  on  the  contrary,  you  will  help  me 
to  retain  my  Calyste's  love.  I  expected  the  impres- 
sion you  would  make  upon  him,  but  I  have  not  com- 
mitted the  mistake  of  seeming  jealous;  that  would 
only  have  added  fuel  to  the  flame.  On  the  contrary, 
before  you  came,  I  described  you  in  such  glowing 
colors  that  you  hardly  realize  the  portrait,  although 
you  are,  it  seems  to  me,  more  beautiful  than  ever." 

This  vehement  elegy,  in  which  truth  was  mingled 
with  deception,  completely  duped  the  marquise. 
Claude  Vignon  had  told  Conti  ,the  reasons  for  his 
departure,  and  Beatrix  was,  of  course,  informed  of 
them.  She  determined  therefore  to  behave  with  gen- 
erosity and  give  the  cold  shoulder  to  Calyste ;  but  at 
the  same  instant  there  came  into  her  soul  that  quiver 
of  joy  which  vibrates  in  the  heart  of  every  woman 
when  she  finds  herself  beloved.  The  love  a  woman 
inspires  in  any  man's  heart  is  flattery  without  hypoc- 
risy, and  it  is  impossible  for  some  women  to  forego 
it;  but  when  that  man  belongs  to  a  friend,  his  homage 
gives  more  than  pleasure,  —  it  gives  delight.  Beatrix 
sat  down  beside  her  friend  and  began  to  coax  her 
prettily. 

''You  have  not  a  white  hair,"  she  said;  ''you 
have  n't  even  a  wrinkle;  your  temples  are  just  as  fresh 
as  ever;  whereas  I  know  more  than  one  woman  of 
thirty  who   is   obliged   to  cover  hers.     Look,  dear," 


188  Beatrix, 

she  added,  lifting  her  curls,  "see  what  that  journey 
to  Italy  has  cost  me." 

H^er  temples  showed  an  almost  imperceptible  with- 
ering of  the  texture  of  the  delicate  skin.  She  raised 
her  sleeves  and  showed  Camille  the  same  slight  with- 
ering of  the  wrists,  where  the  transparent  tissue  suf- 
fered the  blue  network  of  swollen  veins  to  be  visible, 
and  three  deep  lines  made  a  bracelet  of  wrinkles. 

"  There,  my  dear,  are  two  spots  which  —  as  a  certain 
writer  ferreting  for  the  miseries  of  women,  has  said 
—  never  lie,"  she  continued.  "One  must  needs  have 
suffered  to  know  the  truth  of  his  observation.  Hap- 
pily for  us,  most  men  know  nothing  about  it;  they 
don't  read  us  like  that  dreadful  author." 

"Your  letter  told  me  all,"  replied  Camille;  "happi- 
ness ignores  everything  but  itself.  You  boasted  too 
much  of  yours  to  be  really  happy.  Truth  is  deaf, 
dumb,  and  blind  where  love  really  is.  Consequently, 
seeing  very  plainly  that  you  have  your  reasons  for 
abandoning  Conti,  I  have  feared  to  have  you  here. 
My  dear,  Calyste  is  an  angel ;  he  is  as  good  as  he  is 
beautiful;  his  innocent  heart  will  not  resist  your 
eyes;  already  he  admires  you  too  much  not  to  love 
you  at  the  first  encouragment ;  your  coldness  can  alone 
preserve  him  to  me.  I  confess  to  you,  with  the 
cowardice  of  true  passion,  that  if  he  were  taken  from 
me  I  should  die.  That  dreadful  book  of  Benjamin 
Constant,  'Adolphe,'  tells  us  only  of  Adolphe's  sor- 
rows; but  what  about  those  of  the  woman,  hey?  The 
man  did  not  observe  them  enough  to  describe  them ; 
and  what  woman  would  dare  to  reveal  them?  They 
would  dishonor  her  sex,   humiliate  its  virtues,   and 


Beatrix.  189 

pass  into  vice.  Ah!  I  measure  the  abyss  before  me 
by  my  fears,  by  these  sufferings  that  are  those  of  hell. 
But,  Beatrix,  I  will  tell  you  this:  in  case  I  am 
abandoned,  my  choice  is  made." 

'*  What  is  it?  "  cried  Beatrix,  with  an  eagerness  that 
made  Camille  shudder. 

The  two  friends  looked  at  each  other  with  the  keen 
attention  of  Venetian  inquisitors;  their  souls  clashed 
in  that  rapid  glance,  and  struck  fire  like  flints.  The 
marquise  lowered  her  eyes. 

** After  man,  there  is  nought  but  God,"  said  the 
celebrated  woman.  "God  is  the  Unknown.  I  shall 
fling  myself  into  that  as  into  some  vast  abyss. 
Calyste  has  sworn  to  me  that  he  admires  you  only  as 
he  would  a  picture;  but  alas!  you  are  but  twenty- 
eight,  in  the  full  magnificence  of  your  beauty.  The 
struggle  thus  begins  between  him  and  me  by  false- 
hood. But  I  have  one  support;  happily  I  know  a 
means  to  keep  him  true  to  me,  and  I  shall  triumph." 

'*What  means?  " 

*'  That  is  my  secret,  dear.  Let  me  have  the  benefits 
of  my  age.  If  Claude  Vignon,  as  Conti  has  doubtless 
told  you,  flings  me  back  into  the  gulf,  1,  who  had 
climbed  to  a  rock  which  I  thought  inaccessible,  —  I 
will  at  least  gather  the  pale  and  fragile,  but  delight- 
ful flowers  that  grow  in  its  depths." 

Madame  de  Rochefide  was  moulded  like  wax  in 
those  able  hands.  Camille  felt  an  almost  savage 
pleasure  in  thus  entrapping  her  rival  in  her  toils.  She 
sent  her  to  bed  that  night  piqued  by  curiosity,  floating 
between  jealousy  and  generosity,  but  most  assuredly 
with  her  mind  full  of  the  beautiful  Calyste. 


190  Beatrix. 

'  "She  will  be  enchanted  to  deceive  me,"  thought 
Camille,  as  she  kissed  her  good-night. 

Then,  when  she  was  alone,  the  author,  the  con- 
structor of  dramas,  gave  place  to  the  woman,  and  she 
burst  into  tears.  Filling  her  hookah  with  tobacco 
soaked  in  opium,  she  spent  the  greater  part  of  the 
night  in  smoking,  dulling  thus  the  sufferings  of  her 
soul,  and  seeing  through  the  clouds  about  her  the 
beautiful  young  head  of  her  late  lover. 

"What  a  glorious  book  to  write,  if  I  were  only  to 
express  my  pain!"  she  said  to  herself.  "But  it  is 
written  already;  Sappho  lived  before  me.  And 
Sappho  was  young.  A  fine  and  touching  heroine 
truly,  a  woman  of  forty!  Ah!  my  poor  Camille, 
smoke  your  hookah;  you  haven't  even  the  resource  of 
making  a  poem  of  your  misery  —  that's  the  last  drop 
of  anguish  in  your  cup!  " 

The  next  morning  Calyste  came  before  mid-day  and 
slipped  upstairs,  as  he  was  told,  into  Camille's  own 
room,  where  he  found  the  books.  Felicite  sat  before 
the  window,  smoking,  contemplating  in  turn  the 
marshes,  the  sea,  and  Calyste,  to  whom  she  now  and 
then  said  a  few  words  about  Beatrix.  At  one  time, 
seeing  the  marquise  strolling  about  the  garden,  she 
raised  a  curtain  in  a  way  to  attract  her  attention,  and 
also  to  throw  a  band  of  light  across  Calyste*s  book. 

"To-day,  my  child,  I  shall  ask  you  to  stay  to  din° 
ner;  but  you  must  refuse,  with  a  glance  at  the  mar- 
quise, which  will  show  her  how  much  you  regret  not 
staying." 

When  the  three  actors  met  in  the  salon,  and  this 
comedy  was   played,  Calyste   felt  for  a  moment   his 


BUtrix,  191 

equivocal  position,  and  the  glance  that  he  cast  on 
Beatrix  was  far  more  expressive  than  Felicite  ex- 
pected.    Beatrix  had  dressed  herself  charmingly. 

''What  a  bewitching  toilet,  my  dearest! "  said 
Camille,  when  Calyste  had  departed. 

These  manoeuvres  lasted  six  days,  during  which 
time  many  conversations,  into  which  Camille  Maupin 
put  all  her  ability,  took  place,  unknown  to  Calyste, 
between  herself  and  the  marquise.  They  were  like  the 
preliminaries  of  a  duel  between  the  two  women,  —  a 
duel  without  truce,  in  which  the  assault  was  made  on 
both  sides  with  snares,  feints,  false  generosities,. de- 
ceitful confessions,  crafty  confidences,  by  which  one 
hid  and  the  other  bared  her  love;  and  in  which  the 
sharp  steel  of  Camille' s  treacherous  words  entered  the 
heart  of  her  friend,  and  left  its  poison  there.  Beatrix 
at  last  took  offence  at  what  she  thought  Camille's 
distrust;  she  considered  it  out  of  place  between 
them.  At  the  same  time  she  was  enchanted  to  find 
the  great  writer  a  victim  to  the  pettiness  of  her  sex, 
and  she  resolved  to  enjoy  the  pleasure  of  showing  her 
where  her  greatness  ended,  and  how  even  she  could  be 
humiliated. 

"  My  dear,  what  is  to  be  the  excuse  to-day  for  Mon- 
sieur du  Gu^uic's  not  dining  with  us?"  she  asked, 
looking  maliciously  at  her  friend.  ''Monday  you  said 
we  had  engagements;  Tuesday  the  dinner  was  poor; 
Wednesday  you  were  afraid  his  mother  would  be 
angry;  Thursday  you  wanted  to  take  a  walk  with  me; 
and  yesterday  you  simply  dismissed  him  without  a 
reason.  To-day  I  shall  have  my  way,  and  1  mean 
that  he  shall  stay." 


i92  Beatrix. 

"Already,  my  dear!  "  said  Camille,  with  cutting 
irony.  The  marquise  blushed.  "Stay,  Monsieur  du 
Guenic,"  said  Camille,  in  the  tone  of  a  queen. 

Beatrix  became  cold  and  hard,  contradictory  in 
tone,  epigrammatic,  and  almost  rude  to  Calyste,  whom 
Felicite  sent  home  to  play  mouche  with  Charlotte  de 
Kergarouet. 

^''She  is  not  dangerous  at  any  rate,"  said  Beatrix, 
sarcastically. 

Young  lovers  are  like  hungry  men;  kitchen  odors 
will  not  appease  their  hunger;  they  think  too  much 
of  what  is  coming  to  care  for  the  means  that  bring 
it.  As  Calyste  walked  back  to  Guerande,  his  soul 
was  full  of  Beatrix ;  he  paid  no  heed  to  the  profound 
feminine  cleverness  which  Felicite  was  displaying  on 
his  behalf.  During  this  week  the  marquise  had  only 
written  once  to  Conti,  a  symptom  of  indifference  which 
had  not  escaped  the  watchful  eyes  of  Camille,  who 
imparted  it  to  Calyste.  All  Calyste 's  life  was  concen- 
trated in  the  short  moment  of  the  day  during  which 
he  was  allowed  to  see  the  marquise.  This  drop  of 
water,  far  from  allaying  his  thirst,  only  redoubled  it. 
The  magic  promise,  "Beatrix  shall  love  you,"  made 
by  Camille,  was  the  talisman  with  which  he  strove  to 
restrain  the  fiery  ardor  of  his  passion.  But  he  knew 
not  how  to  consume  the  time;  he  could  not  sleep,  and 
spent  the  hours  of  the  night  in  reading;  every  even- 
ing he  brought  back  with  him,  as  Mariotte  remarked, 
cartloads  of  books. 

His  aunt  called  down  maledictions  on  the  head  of 
Mademoiselle  des  Touches ;  bUt  his  mother,  who  had 
gone  on  several  occasions  to  his  room  on  seeing  his 


Biatrix.  193 

light  burning  far  into  the  night,  knew  by  this  time 
the  secret  of  his  conduct.  Though  for  her  love  was 
a  sealed  book,  and  she  was  even  unaware  of  her  own 
ignorance,  Fanny  rose  through  maternal  tenderness 
into  certain  ideas  of  it;  but  the  depths  of  such  senti- 
ment being  dark  and  obscured  by  clouds  to  her  mind, 
she  was  shocked  at  the  state  in  which  she  saw  him ; 
the  solitary  uncomprehended  desire  of  his  soul,  which 
was  evidently  consuming  him,  simply  terrified  her. 
Calyste  had  but  one  thought;  Beatrix  was  always 
before  him.  In  the  evenings,  while  cards  were  being 
played,  his  abstraction  resembled  his  father's  somno- 
lence. Finding  him  so  different  from  what  he  was 
w^en  he  loved  Camille,  the  baroness  became  aware, 
with  a  sort  of  horror,  of  the  symptoms  of  real  love,  — 
a  species  of  possession  which  had  seized  upon  her 
son,  —  a  love  unknown  within  the  walls  of  that  old 
mansion. 

Feverish  irritability,  a  constant  absorption  in 
thought,  made  Calyste  almost  doltish.  Often  he 
would  sit  for  hours  with  his  eyes  fixed  on  some  figure 
in  the  tapestry.  One  morning  his  mother  implored 
him  to  give  up  Les  Touches,  and  leave  the  two  women 
forever. 

"Not  go  to  Les  Touches!  "  he  cried. 

"Oh!  yes,  yes,  go!  do  not  look  so,  my  darling!" 
she  cried,  kissing  him  on  the  eyes  that  had  flashed 
such  flames. 

Under  these  circumstances  Calyste  often  came  near 
losing  the  fruit  of  Camille's  plot  through  the  Breton 
fury  of  his  love,  of  which  he  was  ceasing  to  be  the 
master.     Finally,  he  swore  to  himself,  in  spite  of  his 

13 


194  Beatrix. 

promise  to  Felicite,  to  see  Beatrix,  and  speak  to  her. 
He  wanted  to  read  lier  eyes,  to  bathe  in  their  light,  to 
examine  every  detail  of  her  dress,  breathe  its  per- 
fume, listen  to  the  music  of  her  voice,  watch  the 
graceful  composition  of  her  movements,  embrace  at  a 
glance  the  whole  figure,  and  study  her  as  a  general 
studies  the  field  where  he  means  to  win  a  decisive 
battle.  He  willed  as  lovers  will ;  he  was  grasped  by 
desires  which  closed  his  ears  and  darkened  his  intel- 
lect, and  threw  him  into  an  unnatural  state  in  which 
he  was  conscious  of  neither  obstacles,  nor  distances, 
nor  the  existence  even  of  his  own  body. 

One  morning  he  resolved  to  go  to  Les  Touches  at 
an  earlier  hour  than  that  agreed  upon,  and  endeavor 
to  meet  Beatrix  in  the  garden.  He  knew  she  walked 
there  daily  before  breakfast. 

Mademoiselle  des  Touches  and  the  marquise  had 
gone,  as  it  happened,  to  see  the  ?iiarshes  and  the  little 
bay  with  its  margin  of  fine  sand,  where  the  sea 
penetrates  and  lies  like  a  lake  in  the  midst  of  the 
dunes.  They  had  just  returned,  and  were  walking  up 
a  garden  path  beside  the  lawn,  conversing  as  they 
walked. 

"If  the  scenery  pleases  you,"  said  Camille,  "we 
must  take  Calyste  and  make  a  trip  to  Croisic.  There 
are  splendid  rocks  there,  cascades  of  granite,  little 
bays  with  natural  basins,  charmingly  unexpected  and 
capricious  things,  besides  the  sea  itself,  with  its  store 
of  marble  fragments,  — a  world  of  amusement.  Also 
you  will  see  women  making  fuel  with  cow-dung,  which 
they  nail  against  the  walls  of  their  houses  to  dry  in 
the  sun,  after  which  they  pile  it  up  as  we  do  peat  in 
Paris." 


Beatrix  195 

"What!  will  yon  really  risk  Calyste?"  cried  the 
marquise,  laughing,  in  a  tone  which  proved  that 
Camille's  ruse  had  answered  its  purpose. 

*'Ah,  my  dear,"  she  replied,  ''if  you  did  but  know 
the  angelic  soul  of  that  dear  child,  you  would  under- 
stand me.  In  him,  mere  beauty  is  nothing;  one  must 
enter  that  pure  heart,  which  is  amazed  at  every  step 
it  takes  into  the  kingdom  of  love.-  What  faith!  what 
grace!  what  innocence!  The  ancients  were  right 
enough  in  the  worship  they  paid  to  sacred  beauty. 
Some  traveller,  I  forget  who,  relates  that  when  wild 
horses  lose  their  leader  they  choose  the  handsomest 
horse  in  the  herd  for  his  successor.  Beauty,  my  dear, 
is  the  genius  of  things ;  it  is  the  ensign  which  Nature 
hoists  over  her  most  precious  creations^;  it  is  the 
truest  of  symbols  as  it  is  the  greatest  of  accidents. 
Did  any  one  ever  suppose  that  angels  could  be  de- 
formed? are  they  not  necessarily  a  combination  of 
grace  and  strength?  What  is  it  that  makes  us  stand 
for  hours  before  some  picture  in  Italy,  where  genius 
has  striven  through  years  of  toil  to  realize  but  one  of 
those  accidents  of  Nature  ?  Come,  call  up  your  sense 
of  the  truth  of  things  and  answer  me;  is  it  not  the 
Idea  of  Beauty  which  our  souls  associate  with  moral 
grandeur?  Well,  Calyste  is  one  of  those  dreams,  those 
visions,  realized.  He  has  the  regal  power  of  a  lion, 
tranquilly  unsuspicious  of  its  royalty.  When  he 
feels  at  his  ease,  he  is  witty;  and  I  love  his  girlish 
timidity.  My  soul  rests  in  his  heart  away  from  all 
corruptions,  all  ideas  of  knowledge,  literature,  the 
world,  society,  politics,  —  those  useless  accessories 
under  which  we  stifle  happiness.     I  am  what  I  have 


196  Beatrix, 

never  been,  —  a  child !  I  am  sure  of  him,  but  I  like 
to  play  at  jealousy ;  he  likes  it  too.  Besides,  that  is 
part  of  my  secret." 

Beatrix  walked  on  pensively,  in  silence.  Camille 
endured  unspeakable  martyrdom,  and  she  cast  a  side- 
long glance  at  her  companion  which  looked  like 
flame. 

"Ah,  my  dear;  but  yoit  are  happy,"  said  Beatrix 
presently,  laying  her  hand  on  Camille's  arm  like  a 
woman  wearied  out  with  some  inward  struggle. 

"Yes,  happy  indeed! "  replied  Felicite,  with  savage 
bitterness. 

The  two  women  dropped  upon  a  bench  from  a  sense 
of  exhaustion.  No  creature  of  her  sex  was  ever 
played  upon  like  an  instrument  with  more  Macchia- 
vellian  penetration  than  the  marquise  throughout  this 
week. 

"Yes,  you  are  happy,  but  II  "  she  said,  — "to  know 
of  Conti's  infidelities,  and  have  to  bear  them  !  " 

"Why  not  leave  him?"  said  Camille,  seeing  the 
hour  had  come  to  strike  a  decisive  blow. 

"Can  I?" 

"Oh!  poor  boy!" 

Both  were  gazing  into  a  clump  of  trees  with  a  stupe- 
fied air. 

Camille  rose. 

"I  will  go  and  hasten  breakfast;  my  walk  has  given 
me  an  appetite,"  she  said. 

"Our  conversation  has  taken  away  mine,"  remarked 
Beatrix. 

The  marquise  in  her  morning  dress  was  outlined  in 
white  against  the  dark  greens  of  the  foliage.    Calyste, 


Beatrix,  197 

who  had  slipped  through  the  salon  into  the  garden, 
took  a  path,  along  which  he  sauntered  as  though  he 
were  meeting  her  by  accident.  Beatrix  could  not 
restrain  a  slight  quiver  as  he  approached  her. 

"Madame,  in  what  way  did  I  displease  you  yester- 
day?" he  said,  after  the  first  commonplace  sentences 
had  been  exchanged. 

**But  you  have  neither  pleased  me  nor  displeased 
me,"  she  said,  in  a  gentle  voice. 

The  tone,  air,  and  manner  in  which  the  marquise 
said  these  words  encouraged  Calyste. 

''Am  I  so  indifferent  to  you? "  he  said  in  a  troubled 
voice,  as  the  tears  came  into  his  eyes. 

''Ought  we  not  to  be  indifferent  to  each  other?" 
replied  the  marquise.  "Have  we  not,  each  of  us, 
another,  and  a  binding  attachment?" 

"Oh!  "  cried  Calyste,  "if  you  mean  Camille,  I  did 
love  her,  but  I  love  her  no  longer." 

"Then  why  are  you  shut  up  together  every  morn- 
ing?" she  said,  with  a  treacherous  smile.  "I  don't 
suppose  that  Camille,  in  spite  of  her  passion  for 
tobacco,  prefers  her  cigar  to  you,  or  that  you,  in 
your  admiration  for  female  authors,  spend  four  hours 
a  day  in  reading  their  romances." 

"So  then  you  know  —  "  began  the  guileless  young 
Breton,  his  face  glowing  with  the  happiness  of  being 
face  to  face  alone  with  his  idol. 

"Calyste!"  cried  Camille,  angrily,  suddenly  ap- 
pearing and  interrupting  him.  She  took  his  arm  and 
drew  him  away  to  some  distance.  "Calyste,  is  this 
what  you  promised  me  ?  " 

Beatrix  heard   these  words  of   reproach   as   Made- 


198  Beatrix, 

moiselle  des  Touches  disappeared  toward  the  house, 
taking  Calyste  with  her.  She  was  stupefied  by  the 
young  man's  assertion,  and  could  not  comprehend  it; 
she  was  not  as  strong  as  Claude  Vignon.  In  truth, 
the  part  being  played  by  Camille  Maupin,  as  shocking 
as  it  was  grand,  is  one  of  those  wicked  grandeurs 
which  women  only  practise  when  driven  to  extremity. 
By  it  their  hearts  are  broken;  in  it  the  feelings  of 
their  sex  are  lost  to  them;  it  begins  an  abnegation 
which  ends  by  either  plunging  them  to  hell,  or  lifting 
them  to  heaven. 

During  breakfast,  which  Calyste  was  invited  to 
share,  the  marquise,  whose  sentiments  could  be  noble 
and  generous,  made  a  sudden  return  upon  herself, 
resolving  to  stifle  the  germs  of  love  which  were  rising 
in  her  heart.  She  was  neither  cold  nor  hard  to 
Calyste,  but  gently  indifferent,  —  a  course  which  tor- 
tured him.  Felicite  brought  forward  a  proposition 
that  they  should  make,  on  the  next  day  but  one,  an 
excursion  into  the  curious  and  interesting  country 
lying  between  Les  Touches,  Croisic,  and  the  village 
of  Batz.  She  begged  Calyste  to  employ  himself  on 
the  morrow  in  hiring  a  boat  and  sailors  to  take  them 
across  the  little  bay,  undertaking  herself  to  provide 
horses  and  provisions,  and  all  else  that  was  necessary 
for  a  party  of  pleasure,  in  which  there  was  to  be  no 
fatigue.  Beatrix  stopped  the  matter  short,  however, 
by  saying  that  she  did  not  wish  to  make  excursions 
round  the  country.  Calyste' s  face,  which  had  beamed 
with  delight  at  the  prospect,  was  suddenly  over- 
clouded. 

"What  are  you  afraid  of,  my  dear?  "  asked  Camille. 


Beatrix,  199 

"My  position  is  so  delicate  I  do  not  wish  to  com- 
promise —  I  will  not  say  my  reputation,  but  my  hap- 
piness," she  said,  meaningly,  with  a  glance  at  the 
young  Breton.  '*You  know  very  well  how  suspicious 
Conti  can  be;  if  he  knew  —  " 

''Who  will  tell  him?" 

''He  is  coming  back  here  to  fetch  me,"  said 
Beatrix. 

Calyste  turned  pale.  In  spite  of  all  that  Camille 
could  urge,  in  spite  of  Calyste' s  entreaties,  Madame 
de  Rochefide  remained  inflexible,  and  showed  what 
Camille  had  called  her  obstinacy.  Calyste  left  Les 
Touches  the  victim  of  one  of  those  depressions  of  love 
which  threaten,  in  certain  men,  to  turn  into  madness. 
He  began  to  revolve  in  his  njind  some  decided  means 
of  coming  to  an  explanation  with  Beatrix. 


200  Beatrix, 


XII. 


CORRESPONDENCE. 


When  Calyste  reached  home,  he  did  not  leave  his 
room  until  dinner  time ;  and  after  dinner  he  went  back 
to  it.  At  ten  o'clock  his  mother,  uneasy  at  his  ab- 
sence, went  to  look  for  him,  and  found  him  writing  in 
the  midst  of  a  pile  of  blotted  and  half-torn  paper. 
He  was  writing  to  Beatrix,  for  distrust  of  Camille  had 
come  into  his  mind.  The  air  and  manner  of  the  mar- 
quise during  their  brief  interview  in  the  garden  had 
singularly  encouraged  him. 

No  first  love-letter  ever  was  or  ever  will  be,  as  may 
readily  be  supposed,  a  brilliant  effort  of  the  mind.  In 
all  young  men  not  tainted  by  corruption  such  a  letter 
is  written. with  gushings  from  the  heart,  too  overflow- 
ing, too  multifarious  not  to  be  the  essence,  the  elixir 
of  many  other  letters  begun,  rejected,  and  rewritten. 

Here  is  the  one  that  Calyste  finally  composed  and 
which  he  read  aloud  to  his  poor,  astonished  mother. 
To  her  the  old  mansion  seemed  to  have  taken  fire; 
this  love  of  her  son  flamed  up  in  it  like  the  glare  of 
a  conflagration. 

Calyste  to  Madame  la  Marquise  de  Rochefide. 
Madame,  —  I  loved  you  when  you  were  to  me  but  a 
dream;  judge,  therefore,  of   the   force  my   love   ac- 


Beatrix.  201 

quired  when  I  saw  you.  The  dream  was  far  surpassed 
by  the  reality.  It  is  my  grief  and  my  misfortune  to 
have  nothing  to  say  to  you  that  you  do  not  know 
already  of  your  beauty  and  your  charm;  and  yet, 
perhaps,  they  have  awakened  in  no  other  heart  so 
deep  a  sentiment  as  they  have  in  me. 

In  so  many  ways  you  are  beautiful ;  I  have  studied 
you  so  much  while  thinking  of  you  day  and  night 
that  I  have  penetrated  the  mysteries  of  your  being, 
the  secrets  of  your  heart,  and  your  delicacy,  so  little 
appreciated.  Have  you  ever  been  loved,  understood, 
adored  as  you  deserve  to  be  ? 

Let  me  tell  you  now  that  there  is  not  a  trait  in  your 
nature  which  my  heart  does  not  interpret ;  your  pride 
is  understood  by  mine ;  the  grandeur  of  your  glance, 
the  grace  of  your  bearing,  the  distinction  of  your 
movements,  —  all  things  about  your  person  are  in  har- 
mony with  the  thoughts,  the  hopes,  the  desires  hidden 
in  the  depths  of  your  soul ;  it  is  because  I  have  divined 
them  all  that  I  think  myself  worthy  o^  your  notice. 
If  I  had  not  become,  within  the  last  few  days, 
another  yourself,  I  could  not  speak  to  you  of  myself ; 
this  letter,  indeed,  relates  far  more  to  you  than  it  does 
to  me. 

Beatrix,  in  order  to  write  to  you,  I  have  silenced 
my  youth,  I  have  laid  aside  myself,  I  have  aged  my 
thoughts,  —  or,  rather,  it  is  you  who  have  aged  them, 
by  this  week  of  dreadful  sufferings  caused,  innocently 
indeed,  by  you. 

Do  not  think  me  one  of  those  common  lovers  at 
whom  I  have  heard  you  laugh  so  justly.  What  merit 
is  there  in  loving  a  young  and  beautiful  and  wise 


k 


202  BSatrix, 

and  noble  woman  Alas!  I  have  no  merit!  What 
can  I  be  to  you?  A  child,  attracted  by  effulgence  of 
beauty  and  by  moral  grandeur,  as  the  insects  are 
attracted  to  the  light.  You  cannot  do  otherwise 
than  tread  upon  the  flowers  of  my  soul;  they  are 
there  at  your  feet,  and  all  my  happiness  consists  in 
your  stepping  on  them. 

Absolute  devotion,  unbounded  faith,  love  unquench- 
able, —  all  these  treasures  of  a  true  and  tender  heart 
are  nothing,  nothing!  they  serve  only  to  love  with, 
they  cannot  win  the  love  we  crave.  Sometimes  I  do 
not  understand  why  a  worship  so  ardent  does  not 
warm  its  idol ;  and  when  I  meet  your  eye,  so  cold,  so 
stern,  I  turn  to  ice  within  me.  Your  disdain,  that  is 
the  acting  force  between  us,  not  my  worship.  Why? 
You  cannot  hate  me  as  much  as  I  love  you ;  why,  then, 
does  the  weaker  feeling  rule  the  stronger?  I  loved 
Felicite  with  all  the  powers  of  my  heart ;  yet  I  forgot 
her  in  a  day,  in  a  moment,  when  I  saw  you.  She 
was  my  error ;  you  are  my  truth. 

You  have,  unknowingly,  destroyed  my  happiness, 
and  yet  you  owe  me  nothing  in  return.  I  loved 
Camille  without  hope,  and  I  have  no  hope  from  you ; 
nothing  is  changed  but  my  divinity.  I  was  a  pagan ; 
I  am  now  a  Christian,  that  is  all  — 

Except  this:  you  have  taught  me  that  to  love  is 
the  greatest  of  all  joys ;  the  joy  of  being  loved  comes 
later.  According  to  Camille,  it  is  not  loving  to  love 
for  a  short  time  only;  the  love  that  does  not  grow 
from  day  to  day,  from  hour  to  hour,  is  a  mere 
wretched  passion.  In  order  to  grow,  love  must  not 
see  its  end;  and  she  saw  the  end  of  ours,  the  setting  of 


Beatrix,  203 

our  sun  of  love.  When  I  beheld  you,  I  understood  her 
words,  which,  until  then,  I  had  disputed  with  all  my 
youth,  with  all  the  ardor  of  my  desires,  with  the  des- 
potic sternness  of  twenty  years.  That  grand  and 
noble  Camille  mingled  her  tears  with  mine,  and  yet 
she  firmly  rejected  the  love  she  saw  must  end. 
Therefore  I  am  free  to  love  you  here  on  earth  and  in 
the  heaven  above  us,  as  we  love  God.  If  you  loved 
me,  you  would  have  no  such  arguments  as  Camille 
used  to  overthrow  my  love.  We  are  both  young ;  we 
could  fly  on  equal  wing  across  our  sunny  heaven,  not 
fearing  storms  as  that  grand  eagle  feared  them. 

But  ah!  what  am  I  saying?  my  thoughts  have  car- 
ried me  beyond  the  humility  of  my  real  hopes.  Be- 
lieve, believe  in  the  submission,  the  patience,  the 
mute  adoration  which  I  only  ask  you  not  to  wound 
uselessly.  I  know,  Beatrix,  that  you  cannot  love  me 
without  the  loss  of  your  self-esteem ;  therefore  I  ask 
for  no  return.  Camille  once  said  there  was  some 
hidden  fatality  in  names,  a  propos  of  hers.  That 
fatality  I  felt  for  myself  on  the  jetty  of  Guerande, 
when  I  read  on  the  shores  of  the  ocean  your  name. 
Yes,  you  will  pass  through  my  life  as  Beatrice  passed 
through  that  of  Dante.  My  heart  will  be  a  pedestal 
for  that  white  statue,  cold,  distant,  jealous,  and 
oppressive. 

It  is  forbidden  to  you  to  love  me;  I  know  that. 
You  will  suffer  a  thousand  deaths,  you  will  be  betrayed, 
humiliated,  unhappy;  but  you  have  in  you  a  devil's 
pride,  which  binds  you  to  that  column  you  have  once 
embraced,  —  you  are  like  Samson,  you  will  perish  by 
holding  to  it.     But  this  I  have  not  divined ;  my  love 


204  Beatrix, 

is  too  blind  for  that;  Camille  has  told  it  to  me.  It 
is  not  my  mind  that  speaks  to  you  of  this,  it  is  hers. 
I  have  no  mind  with  which  to  reason  when  I  think  of 
you;  blood  gushes  from  my  heart,  and  its  hot  wave 
darkens  my  intellect,  weakens  my  strength,  paralyzes 
my  tongue,  and  bends  my  knees.  I  can  only  adore 
you,  whatever  you  may  do  to  me. 

Camille  calls  your  resolution  obstinacy;  I  defend 
you,  and  I  call  it  virtue.  You  are  only  the  more 
beautiful  because  of  it.  I  know  my  destiny,  and  the 
pride  of  a  Breton  can  rise  to  the  height  of  the  woman 
who  makes  her  pride  a  virtue. 

Therefore,  dear  Beatrix,  be  kind,  be  consoling  to 
me.  When  victims  were  selected,  they  crowned  them 
with  flowers ;  so  do  you  to  me ;  you  owe  me  the  flowers 
of  pity,  the  music  of  my  sacrifice.  Am  I  not  a  proof 
of  your  grandeur?  Will  you  not  rise  to  the  level  of 
my  disdained  love,  —  disdained  in  spite  of  its  sin- 
cerity, in  spite  of  its  immortal  passion? 

Ask  Camille  how  I  behaved  to  her  after  the  day 
she  told  me,  on  her  return  to  Les  Touches,  that 
she  loved  Claude  Vignon.  I  was  mute ;  I  suffered  in 
silence.  Well,  for  you  I  will  show  even  greater 
strength,  —  I  will  bury  my  feelings  in  my  heart,  if 
you  will  not  drive  me  to  despair,  if  you  will  only 
understand  my  heroism.  A  single  word  of  praise 
from  you  is  enough  to  make  me  bear  the  pains  of 
martyrdom. 

But  if  you  persist  in  this  cold  silence,  this  deadly 
disdain,  you  will  make  me  think  you  fear  me.  Ah, 
Beatrix,  be  with  me  what  you  are,  —  charming,  witty, 
gay,  and  tender.    Talk  to  me  of  Conti,  as  Camille  has 


Beatrix.  205 

talked  to  me  of  Claude.  I  have  no  other  spirit  in  my 
soul,  no  other  genius  but  that  of  love;  nothing  is 
there  that  can  make  you  fear  me;  I  will  be  in  your 
presence  as  if  I  loved  you  not. 

Can  you  reject  so  humble  a  prayer?  —  the  prayer  of 
a  child  who  only  asks  that  his  Light  shall  lighten 
him,  that  his  Sun  may  warm  him. 

He  whom  you  love  can  be  with  you  at  all  times,  but 
I,  poor  Calyste!  have  so  few  days  in  which  to  see 
you;  you  will  soon  be  freed  from  me.  Therefore  I 
may  return  to  Les  Touches  to-morrow,  may  I  not? 
You  will  not  refuse  my  arm  for  that  excursion  ?  We 
shall  go  together  to  Croisic  and  to  Batz  ?  If  you  do 
not  go  I  shall  take  it  for  an  answer,  —  Calyste  will 
understand  it! 

There  were  four  more  pages  of  the  same  sort  in 
close,  fine  writing,  wherein  Calyste  explained  the  sort 
of  threat  conveyed  in  the  last  words,  and  related 
his  youth  and  life ;  but  the  tale  was  chiefly  told  in 
exclamatory  phrases,  with  many  of  those  points  and 
dashes  of  which  modern  literature  is  so  prodigal  when 
it  comes  to  crucial  passages,  —  as  though  they  were 
planks  offered  to  the  reader's  imagination,  to  help  him' 
across  crevasses.  The  rest  of  this  artless  letter  was 
merely  repetition.  But  if  it  was  not  likely  to  touch 
Madame  de  Rochefide,  and  would  very  slightly  interest 
the  admirers  of  strong  emotions,  it  made  the  mother 
weep,  as  she  said  to  her  son,  in  her  tender  voice,  — 

**My  child,  you  are  not  happy." 

This  tumultuous  poem  of  sentiments  which  had 
arisen  like  a  storm  in  Calyste's  heart,    terrified   the 


206  Beatrix, 

baroness;  for  the  first  time  in  her  life  she  read  a 
love-letter. 

Calyste  was  standing  in  deep  perplexity ;  how  could 
he  send  that  letter?  He  followed  his  mother  back 
into  the  salon  with  the  letter  in  his  pocket  and  burn- 
ing in  his  heart  like  fire.  The  Chevalier  du  Halga 
was  still  there,  and  the  last  deal  of  a  lively  mouche 
was  going  on.  Charlotte  de  Kergarouet,  in  despair 
at  Calyste' s  indifference,  was  paying  attention  to  his 
father  as  a  means  of  promoting  her  marriage.  Calyste 
wandered  hither  and  thither  like  a  butterfly  which  had 
flown  into  the  room  by  mistake.  At  last,  when 
mouche  was  over,  he  drew  the  Chevalier  du  Halga 
into  the  great  salon,  from  which  he  sent  away  Made- 
moiselle de  Pen-Hoel's  page  and  Mariotte. 

"What  does  he  want  of  the  chevalier?"  said  old 
Zephirine,  addressing  her  friend  Jacqueline. 

"Calyste  strikes  me  as  half-crazy,"  replied  Made- 
moiselle de  Pen-Hoel.  "He  pays  Charlotte  no  more 
attention  than  if  she  were  a  paludiere." 

Remembering  that  the  Chevalier  du  Halga  had  the 
reputation  of  having  navigated  in  his  youth  the  waters 
of  gallantry,  it  came  into  Calyste' s  head  to  consult 
him. 

"What  is  the  best  way  to  send  a  letter  secretly  to 
one's  mistress?"  he  said  to  the  old  gentleman  in  a 
whisper. 

"WeH,  you  can  slip  it  into  the  hand  of  her  maid 
with  a  louis  or  two  underneath  it ;  for  sooner  or  later 
the  maid  will  find  out  the  secret,  and  it  is  just  as 
well  to  let  her  into  it  at  once,"  replied  the  chevalier, 
on  whose  face  was  the  gleam  of  a  smile.  "But,  on  the 
whole,  it  is  best  to  give  the  letter  yourself." 


Beatrix.  207 

"A  louis  or  two!  "  exclaimed  Calyste. 

He  snatched  up  his  hat  and  ran  to  Les  Touches, 
where  he  appeared  like  an  apparition  in  the  little 
salon,  guided  thither  by  the  voices  of  Camille  and 
Beatrix.  They  were  sitting  on  the  sofa  together, 
apparently  on  the  best  of  terms.  Calyste,  with  the 
headlong  impulse  of  love,  flung  himself  heedlessly 
on  the  sofa  beside  the  marquise,  took  her  hand,  and 
slipped  the  letter  within  it.  He  did  this  so  rapidly 
that  Felicity,  watchful  as  she  was,  did  not  perceive  it. 
Calyste's  heart  was  tingling  with  an  emotion  half 
sweet,  half  painful,  as  he  felt  the  hand  of  Beatrix 
press  his  own,  and  saw  her,  without  interrupting  her 
words,  or  seeming  in  the  least  disconcerted,  slip  the 
letter  into  her  glove. 

"You  fling  yourself  on  a  woman's  dress  without 
mercy,"  she  said,  laughing. 

"Calyste  is  a  boy  who  is  wanting  in  common- 
sense,"  said  Felicity,  not  sparing  him  an  open 
rebuke. 

Calyste  rose,  took  Camille's  hand,  and  kissed  it. 
Then  he  went  to  the  piano  and  ran  his  finger-nail  over 
the  notes,  making  them  all  sound  at  once,  like  a  rapid 
scale.  This  exuberance  of  joy  surprised  Camille,  and 
made  her  thoughtful ;  she  signed  to  Calyste  to  come 
to  her. 

"What  is  the  matter  with  you?"  she  whispered  in 
his  ear. 

"Nothing,"  he  replied. 

"There  is  something  between  them,"  thought  Made- 
moiselle des  Touches. 

The  marquise  was  impenetrable.     Camille  tried  to 


208  Beatrix, 

make  Calyste  talk,  hoping  that  his  artless  mind  would 
betray  itself;  but  the  youth  excused  himself  on  the 
ground  that  his  mother  expected  him,  and  he  left  Les 
Touches  at  eleven  o'clock,  —  not,  however,  without 
having  faced  the  fire  of  a  piercing  glance  from 
Camille,  to  whom  that  excuse  was  made  for  the  first 
time. 

After  the  agitations  of  a  wakeful  night  filled  with 
visions  of  Beatrix,  and  after  going  a  score  of  times 
through  the  chief  street  of  Guerande  for  the  purpose 
of  meeting  the  answer  to  his  letter,  which  did  not 
come,  Calyste  finally  received  the  following  reply, 
which  the  marquise's  waiting-woman,  entering  the 
hotel  du  Guenic,  presented  to  him.  He  carried  it  to 
the  garden,  and  there,  in  the  grotto,  he  read  as  fol- 
lows :  — 

Madame  de  Rochefide  to  Calyste, 

You  are  a  noble  child,  but  you  are  only  a  child., 
You  are  bound  to  Camille,  who  adores  you.  You 
would  not  find  in  me  either  the  perfections  that  dis- 
tinguish her  or  the  happiness  that  she  can  give  you. 
Whatever  you  may  think,  she  is  young  and  I  am  old ; 
her  heart  is  full  of  treasures,  mine  is  empty ;  she  has 
for  you  a  devotion  you  ill  appreciate;  she  is  unselfish ; 
she  lives  only  for  and  in  you.  I,  on  the  other  hand, 
am  full  of  doubts ;  I  should  drag  you  down  to  a  weari- 
some life,  without  grandeur  of  any  kind,  —  a  life 
ruined  by  my  own  conduct.  Camille  is  free;  she  can 
go  and  come  as  she  will;  I  am  a  slave. 

You  forget  that  I  love  and  am  beloved.  The  situa- 
tion in  which  I  have  placed  myself  forbids  my  accept- 


Beatrix,  209 

ing  homage.  That  a  man  should  love  me,  or  say  he 
loves  me,  is  an  insult.  To  turn  to  another  would  be 
to  place  myself  at  the  level  of  the  lowest  of  my  sex. 

You,  who  are  young  and  full  of  delicacy,  how  can 
you  oblige  me  to  say  these  things,  which  rend  my 
heart  as  they  issue  from  it? 

I  preferred  the  scandal  of  an  irreparable  deed  to  the 
shame  of  constant  deception ;  my  own  loss  of  station 
to  a  loss  of  honesty.  In  the  eyes  of  many  persons 
whose  esteem  I  value,  I  am  still  worthy;  but  if  I 
permitted  another  man  to  love  me,  I  should  fall  in- 
deed. The  world  is  indulgent  to  those  whose  con- 
stancy covers,  as  with  a  mantle,  the  irregularity  of 
their  happiness ;  but  it  is  pitiless  to  vice. 

You  see  I  feel  neither  disdain  nor  anger;  I  am 
answering  your  letter  frankly  and  with  simplicity. 
You  are  young;  you  are  ignorant  of  the  world;  you 
are  carried  away  by  fancy ;  you  are  incapable,  like  all 
whose  lives  are  pure,  of  making  the  reflections  which 
evil  suggests.     But  I  will  go  still  further. 

Were  I  destined  to  be  the  most  humiliated  of 
women,  were  I  forced  to  hide  fearful  sorrows,  were  I 
betrayed,  abandoned,  —  which,  thank  God,  is  wholly 
impossible,  — no  one  in  this  world  would  see  me  more. 
Yes,  I  believe  I  should  find  courage  to  kill  a  man 
who,  seeing  me  in  that  situation,  should  talk  to  me  of 
love. 

You  now  know  my  mind  to  its  depths.  Perhaps  I 
ought  to  thank  you  for  having  written  to  me.  After 
receiving  your  letter,  and,  above  all,  after  making  you 
this  reply,  I  could  be  at  my  ease  with  you  in  Camille's 
house,  I  could  act  out  my  natural  self,  and  be  what 

14 


210  Beatrix. 

you  ask  of  me ;  but  I  hardly  need  speak  to  you  of  the 
bitter  ridicule  that  would  overwhelm  me  if  my  eyes  or 
my  manner  ceased  to  express  the  sentiments  of  which 
you  complain.  A  second  robbery  from  Camille  would 
be  a  proof  of  her  want  of  power  which  no  woman 
could  twice  forgive.  Even  if  I  loved  you,  if  I  were 
blind  to  all  else,  if  I  forgot  all  else,  I  should  still  see 
Camille !  Her  love  for  you  is  a  barrier  too  high  to  be 
overleaped  by  any  power,  even  by  the  wings  of  an 
angel;  none  but  a  devil  would  fail  to  recoil  before 
such  treachery.  In  this,  my  dear  Calyste,  are  many 
motives  which  delicate  and  noble  women  keep  to 
themselves,  of  which  you  men  know  nothing;  nor 
could  you  understand  them,  even  though  you  were  all 
as  like  our  sex  as  you  yourself  appear  to  be  at  this 
moment. 

My  child,  you  have  a  mother  who  has  shown  you 
what  you  ought  to  be  in  life.  She  is  pure  and  spot- 
less ;  she  fulfils  her  destiny  nobly ;  what  I  have  heard 
of  her  has  filled  my  eyes  with  tears,  and  in  the  depths 
of  my  heart  I  envy  her.  I,  too,  might  have  been  what 
she  is !  Calyste,  that  is  the  woman  your  wife  should 
be,  and  such  should  be  her  life.  I  will  never  send 
you  back,  in  jest,  as  I  have  done,  to  that  little  Char- 
lotte, who  would  weary  you  to  death ;  but  I  do  com- 
mend you  to  some  divine  young  girl  who  is  worthy  of 
your  love. 

If  I  were  yours,  your  life  would  be  blighted.  You 
would  have  given  me  your  whole  existence,  and  I  — 
you  see,  I  am  frank  —  I  should  have  taken  it ;  I  should 
have  gone  with  you.  Heaven  knows  where,  far  from  the 
world !     But  I  should  have  made  you  most  unhappy ; 


BSatrix.  211 

for  I  am  jealous.  I  see  lions  lurking  in  the  path,  and 
monsters  in  drops  of  water.  I  am  made  wretched  by 
trifles  that  most  women  put  up  with;  inexorable 
thoughts  —  from  my  heart,  not  yours  —  would  poison 
our  existence  and  destroy  my  life.  If  a  man,  after 
ten  years'  happiness,  were  not  as  respectful  and  as 
delicate  as  he  was  to  me  at  first,  I  should  resent  the 
change ;  it  would  abase  me  in  my  own  eyes !  Such  a 
lover  could  not  believe  in  the  Amadis  and  the  Cyrus 
of  my  dreams.  To-day  true  love  is  but  a  dream,  not 
a  reality.  I  see  in  yours  only  the  joy  of  a  desire  the 
end  of  which  is,  as  yet,  unperceived  by  you. 

For  myself,  I  am  not  forty  years  old;  I  have  not 
bent  my  pride  beneath  the  yoke  of  experience,  — 
in  short,  I  am  a  woman,  too  young  to  be  anything 
but  odious.  I  will  not  answer  for  my  temper;  my 
grace  and  charm  are  all  external.  Perhaps  I  have 
not  yet  suffered  enough  to  have  the  indulgent  manners 
and  the  absolute  tenderness  which  come  to  us  from 
cruel  disappointments.  Happiness  has  its  insolence, 
and  I,  I  fear,  am  insolent.  Camille  will  be  always 
your  devoted  slave;  I  should  be  an  unreasonable 
tyrant.  Besides,  Camille  was  brought  to  you  by 
your  guardian  angel,  at  the  turning  point  of  your 
life,  to  show  you  the  career  you  ought  to  follow,  — 
a  cai-eer  in  which  you  cannot  fail. 

I  know  Felicite!  her  tenderness  is  inexhaustible; 
she  may  ignore  the  graces  of  our  sex,  but  she  pos- 
sesses that  fruitful  strength,  that  genius  for  constancy, 
that  noble  intrepidity  which  makes  us  willing  to  accept 
the  rest.  She  will  marry  you  to  some  young  girl,  no 
matter  what  she  suffers.     She  will  find  you  a  free 


212  Beatrix, 

Beatrix  —  if  it  is  Beatrix  indeed  who  answers  to  your 
desires  in  a  wife,  and  to  your  dreams ;  she  will  smooth 
all  the  difficulties  in  your  way.  The  sale  of  a  single 
acre  of  her  ground  in  Paris  would  free  your  property 
in  Brittany ;  she  will  make  you  her  heir ;  are  you  not 
already  her  son  by  adoption? 

Alas !  what  could  I  do  for  your  happiness  ?  Noth- 
ing. Do  not  betray  that  infinite  love  which  contents 
itself  with  the  duties  of  motherhood.  Ah !  I  think  her 
very  fortunate,  my  Camille!  she  can  well  afford  to 
forgive  your  feeling  for  poor  Beatrix ;  women  of  her 
age  are  indulgent  to  such  fancies.  When  they  are 
sure  of  being  loved,  they  will  pardon  a  passing  infi- 
delity ;  in  fact,  it  is  often  one  of  their  keenest  pleas- 
ures to  triumph  over  a  younger  rival.  Camille  is 
above  such  women,  and  that  remark  does  not  refer  to 
her;  but  I  make  it  to  ease  your  mind. 

I  have  studied  Camille  closely ;  she  is,  to  my  eyes, 
one  of  the  greatest  women  of  our  age.  She  has 
mind  and  she  has  goodness,  —  two  qualities  almost 
irreconcilable  in  woman;  she  is  generous  and  simple, 
—  two  other  grandeurs  seldom  found  together  in  our 
sex.  1  have  seen  in  the  depths  of  her  soul  such  treas- 
ures that  the  beautiful  line  of  Dante  on  eternal  happi- 
ness, which  I  heard  her  interpreting  to  you  the  other 
day,  ^^ Senza  brama  sicura  ricchezza^"  seems  as  if 
made  for  her.  She  has  talked  to  me  of  her  career; 
she  has  related  her  life,  showing  me  how  love,  that 
object  of  our  prayers,  our  dreams,  has  ever  eluded 
her.  I  replied  that  she  seemed  to  me  an  instance  of 
the  difficulty,  if  not  the  impossibility,  of  uniting  in 
one  person  two  great  glories. 


Beatrix,  213 

You,  Calyste,  are  one  of  the  angelic  souls  whose 
mate  it  seems  impossible  to  find;  but  Camille  will 
obtain  for  you,  even  if  she  dies  in  doing  so,  the  hand 
of  some  young  girl  with  whom  you  can  make  a  happy 
home. 

For  myself,  I  hold  out  to  you  a  friendly  hand,  and 
I  count,  not  on  your  heart,  but  on  your  mind,  to  make 
you  in  future  a  brother  to  me,  as  I  shall  be  a  sister 
to  you ;  and  I  desire  that  this  letter  may  terminate  a 
correspondence  which,  between  Les  Touches  and 
Guerande,  is  rather  absurd. 

BiATRIX   DE    CaSTERAN. 

The  baroness,  stirred  to  the  depths  of  her  soul  by 
the  strange  exhibitions  and  the  rapid  changes  of  her 
boy* 8  emotions,  could  no  longer  sit  quietly  at  her  work 
in  the  ancient  hall.  After  looking  at  Calyste  from 
time  to  time,  she  finally  rose  and  came  to  him  in  a 
manner  that  was  humble,  and  yet  bold;  she  wanted 
him  to  grant  a  favor  which  she  felt  she  had  a  right 
to  demand. 

"Well?"  she  said,  trembling,  and  looking  at  the 
letter,  but  not  directly  asking  for  it. 

Calyste  read  it  aloud  to  her.  And  these  two  noble 
souls,  so  simple,  so  guileless,  saw  nothing  in  that 
wily  and  ti'eacherous  epistle  of  the  malice  or  the 
snares  which  the  mai'quise  had  written  into  it. 

"She  is  a  noble  woman,  a  grand  woman!  "  said  the 
baroness,  with  moistened  eyes.  '*I  will  pray  to  God 
for  her.  I  did  not  know  that  a  woman  could  abandon 
her  husband  and  child,  and  yet  preserve  a  soul  so 
virtuous.     She  is  indeed  worthy  of  pardon." 


214  Beatrix. 

"Have  I  not  every  reason  to  adore  her?"  cried 
Calyste. 

"But  where  will  this  love  lead  you?"  said  the 
baroness.  Ah,  my  child,  how  dangerous  are  women 
with  noble  sentiments !  There  is  less  to  fear  in  those 
who  are  bad!  Marry  Charlotte  de  Kergarouet  and 
release  two-thirds  of  the  estate.  By  selling  a  few 
farms.  Mademoiselle  de  Pen-Hoel  can  bestow  that 
grand  result  upon  you  in  the  marriage  contract,  and 
she  will  also  help  you,  with  her  experience,  to  make 
the  most  of  your  property.  You  will  be  able  to  leave 
your  children  a  great  name,  and  a  fine  estate." 

"Forget  Beatrix!  "  said  Calyste,  in  a  muffled  voice, 
with  his  eyes  on  the  ground. 

He  left  the  baroness,  and  went  up  to  his  own  room 
to  write  an  answer  to  the  marquise. 

Madame  du  Guenic,  whose  heart  retained  every 
word  of  Madame  de  Rochefide's  letter,  felt  the  need 
of  some  help  in  comprehending  it  more  clearly,  and 
also  the  grounds  of  Calyste' s  hope.  At  this  hour  the 
Chevalier  du  Halga  was  always  to  be  seen  taking  his 
dog  for  a  walk  on  the  mall.  The  baroness,  certain 
of  finding  him  there,  put  on  her  bonnet  and  shawl  and 
went  out. 

The  sight  of  the  Baronne  du  Guenic  walking  in 
Guerande  elsewhere  than  to  church,  or  on  the  two 
pretty  roads  selected  as  promenades  on  fete  days, 
accompanied  by  the  baron  and  Mademoiselle  de  Pen- 
Hoel,  was  an  event  so  remarkable  that  two  hours 
later,  throughout  the  whole  town,  people  accosted  each 
other  with  the  remark,  — 

"Madame  du  Guenic  went  out  to-day;  did  you  meet 
her?" 


Beatrix.  215 

As  soon  as  this  amazing  news  reached  the  ears  of 
Mademoiselle  de  Pen-Hoel,  she  said  to  her  niece,  — 

*' Something  very  extraordinary  is  happening  at  the 
du  Guenics." 

"Calyste  is  madly  in  love  with  that  beautiful 
Marquise  de  Rochefide,"  said  Charlotte.  ''I  ought  to 
leave  Gu^rande  and  return  to  Nantes." 

The  Chevalier  du  Halga,  much  sui-prised  at  being 
sought  by  the  baroness,  released  the  chain  of  his 
little  dog,  aware  that  he  could  not  divide  himself 
between  the  two  interests. 

"Chevalier,"  began  the  baroness,  *'you  used  to 
practise  gallantry  ?  " 

Here  the  Chevalier  du  Halga  straightened  himself 
up  with  an  air  that  was  not  a  little  vain.  Madame 
du  Guenic,  without  naming  her  son  or  the  marquise, 
repeated,  as  nearly  as  possible,  the  love-letter,  and 
asked  the  chevalier  to  explain  to  her  the  meaning  of 
such  an  answer.  Du  Halga  snuffed  the  air  and 
stroked  his  chin;  he  listened  attentively;  he  made 
grimaces;  and  finally,  he  looked  fixedly  at  the 
baroness  with  a  knowing  air,  as  he  said,  — 

"When  thoroughbred  horses  want  to  leap  a  bai-rier, 
they  go  up  to  reconnoitre  it,  and  smell  it  over. 
Calyste  is  a  lucky  dog  I  " 

*'0h,  hush!"  she  cried. 

"I'm  mute.  Ah!  in  the  olden  time  I  knew  all 
about  it,"  said  the  old  chevalier,  striking  an  attitude. 
*'The  weather  was  fine,  the  breeze  nor*east.  TudieuJ 
how  the  '  Belle-Poule  *  kept  close  to  the  wind  that  day 
when —  Oh!"  he  cried,  interrupting  himself,  *'we 
shall  have  a  change  of  weather;  my  ears  are  buzzing, 


216  Beatrix. 

and  I  feel  the  pain  in  my  ribs!  You  know,  don't 
you,  tliat  the  battle  of  the  '  Belle-Poule '  was  so  famous 
that  women  wore  head-dresses  '  a  la  Belle-Poule.* 
Madame  de  Kergarouet  was  the  first  to  come  to  the 
opera  in  that  head-dress,  and  I  said  to  her :  '  Madame, 
you  are  dressed  for  conquest.'  The  speech  was 
repeated  from  box  to  box  all  through  the  house." 

The  baroness  listened  pleasantly  to  the  old  hero, 
who,  faithful  to  the  laws  of  gallantry,  escorted  her  to 
the  alley  of  her  house,  neglecting  Thisbe.  The  secret 
of  Thisbe' s  existence  had  once  escaped  him.  Thisbe 
was  the  granddaughter  of  a  delightful  Thisbe,  the 
pet  of  Madame  I'Amirale  de  Kergarouet,  first  wife 
of  the  Comte  de  Kergarouet,  the  chevalier's  com- 
manding officer.  The  present  Thisbe  was  eighteen 
years  old. 

The  baroness  ran  up  to  Calyste's  room.  He  was 
absent ;  she  saw  a  letter,  not  sealed,  but  addressed  to 
Madame  de  Rochefide,  lying  on  the  table.  An  invin- 
cible curiosity  compelled  the  anxious  mother  to  read 
it.  This  act  of  indiscretion  was  cruelly  punished. 
The  letter  revealed  to  her  the  depths  of  the  gulf  into 
which  his  passion  was  hurling  Calyste. 

Calyste  to  Madame  la  Marquise  de  Rochefide, 

What  care  I  for  the  race  of  the  du  Guenics  in  these 
days,  Beatrix?  what, is  their  name  to  me?  My  name 
is  Beatrix;  the  happiness  of  Beatrix  is  my  happiness; 
her  life  is  my  life,  and  all  my  fortune  is  in  her  heart. 
Our  estates  have  been  mortgaged  these  two  hundred 
years,  and  so  they  may  remain  for  two  hundred  more ; 


Beatrix^  217 

our  farmers  have  charge  of  them;  no  one  can  take 
them  from  us.  To  see  you,  to  love  you,  —  that  is  my 
property,  my  object,  my  religion ! 

You  talk  to  me  of  marrying !  the  very  thought  con- 
vulses my  heart.  Is  there  another  Beatrix?  I  will 
marry  no  one  but  you;  I  will  wait  for  you  twenty 
years,  if  need  be.  I  am  young,  and  you  will  be  ever 
beautiful.  My  mother  is  a  saint.  I  do  not  blame 
her,  but  she  has  never  loved.  I  know  now  what  she 
has  lost,  and  what  sacrifices  she  has  made.  You  have 
taught  me,  Beatrix,  to  love  her  better;  she  is  in  my 
heart  with  you,  and  no  other  can  ever  be  there ;  she  is 
your  only  rival,  —  is  not  this  to  say  that  you  reign  in 
that  heart  supreme?  Therefore  your  arguments  have 
ao  force  upon  my  mind. 

As  for  Camille,  you  need  only  say  the  word,  or 
give  me  a  mere  sign,  and  I  will  ask  her  to  tell  you 
herself  that  I  do  not  love  her.  She  is  the  mother 
of  my  intellect;  nothing  more,  nothing  less.  From 
the  moment  that  I  first  saw  you  she  became  to  me  a 
sister,  a  friend,  a  comrade,  what  you  will  of  that 
kind;  but  we  have  no  rights  other  than  those  of 
friendship  upon  each  other.  I  took  her  for  a  woman 
until  I  saw  you.  You  have  proved  to  me  that 
Camille  is  a  man ;  she  swims,  hunts,  smokes,  drinks, 
rides  on  horseback,  writes  and  analyzes  hearts  and 
books ;  she  has  no  weaknesses ;  she  marches  on  in  all 
her  strength;  her  motions  even  have  no  resemblance 
to  your  graceful  movements,  to  your  step,  airy  as  the 
flight  of  a  bird.  Neither  has  she  your  voice  of  love, 
your  tender  eyes,  your  gracious  manner;  she  is  Camille 
Maupin;   there  is  nothing  of  the  woman   about  her, 


218  Beatrix. 

whereas  in  you  are  all  the  things  of  womanhood  that 
I  love.  It  has  seemed  to  me,  from  the  first  moment 
when  I  saw  you,  that  you  were  mine. 

You  will  laugh  at  that  fancy,  but  it  has  grown  and 
is  growing.  It  seems  to  me  unnatural,  anomalous 
that  we  should  be  apart.  You  are  my  soul,  my  life ; 
I  cannot  live  where  you  are  not! 

Let  me  love  you !  Let  us  fly !  let  us  go  into  some 
country  where  you  know  no  one,  where  only  God  and 
I  can  reach  your  heart!  My  mother,  who  loves  you, 
might  some  day  follow  us.  Ireland  is  full  of  castles ; 
my  mother's  family  will  lend  us  one.  Ah,  Beatrix, 
let  us  go !  A  boat,  a  few  sailors,  and  we  are  there, 
before  any  one  can  know  we  have  fled  this  world  you 
fear  so  much. 

You  have  never  been  loved.  I  feel  it  as  I  re-read 
your  letter,  in  which  I  fancy  I  can  see  that  if  the 
reasons  you  bring  forward  did  not  exist,  you  would  let 
yourself  be  loved  by  me.  Beatrix,  a  sacred  love 
wipes  out  the  past.  Yes,  I  love  you  so  truly  that  I 
could  wish  you  doubly  shamed  if  so  my  love  might 
prove  itself  by  holding  you  a  saint! 

You  call  my  love  an  insult.  Oh,  Beatrix,  you  do 
not  think  it  so !  The  love  of  noble  youth  —  and  you 
have  called  me  that  —  would  honor  a  queen.  There- 
fore, to-morrow  let  us  walk  as  lovers,  hand  in  hand, 
among  the  rocks  and  beside  the  sea;  your  step  upon 
the  sands  of  my  old  Brittany  will  bless  them  anew  to 
me !  Give  me  this  day  of  happiness ;  and  that  passing 
alms,  unremembered,  alas!  by  you,  will  be  eternal 
riches  to  your 

Calyste. 


Beatrix.  219 

The  baroness  let  fall  the  letter,  without  reading  all 
of  it.  She  knelt  upon  a  chair  and  made  a  mental 
prayer  to  God  to  save  her  Calyste's  reason,  to  put  his 
madness,  his  error  far  away  from  him;  to  lead  him 
from  the  path  in  which  she  now  beheld  him. 

''What  are  you  doing,  mother?"  said  Calyste, 
entering  the  room. 

''I  am  praying  to  God  for  you,"  she  answered,  sim- 
ply, turning  her  tearful  eyes  upon  him.  ''I  have  com- 
mitted the  sin  of  reading  that  letter.  My  Calyste  is 
mad!" 

"A  sweet  madness!"  said  the  young  man,  kissing 
her. 

"I  wish  I  could  see  that  woman,"  she  sighed. 

"Mamma,"  said  Calyste,  "we  shall  take  a  boat  to- 
moiTow  and  cross  to  Croisic.  If  you  are  on  the  jetty 
you  can  see  her." 

So  saying,  he  sealed  his  letter  and  departed  for  Lea 
Touches. 

That  which,  above  all,  terrified  the  baroness  was 
to  see  a  sentiment  attaining,  by  the  force  of  its  own 
Instinct,  to  the  clear-sightedness  of  practised  experi- 
ence. Calyste's  letter  to  Beatrix  was  such  as  the 
Chevalier  du  Halga,  with  his  knowledge  of  the  world, 
might  have  dictated. 


220  Beatrix, 


xm. 


DUEL   BETWEEN   WOMEN. 


Perhaps  one  of  the  greatest  enjoyments  that  small 
minds  or  inferior  natures  can  obtain  is  that  of  deceiv- 
ing a  great  soul,  and  laying  snares  for  it.  Beatrix 
knew  herself  far  beneath  Camille  Maupin.  This  infe- 
riority lay  not  only  in  that  collection  of  mental  and 
moral  qualities  which  we  call  talent^  but  in  the  things 
of  the  heart  called  passion. 

At  the  moment  when  Calyste  was  hurrying  to  Les 
Touches  with  the  impetuosity  of  a  first  love  borne  on 
the  wings  of  hope,  the  marquise  was  feeling  a  keen 
delight  in  knowing  herself  the  object  of  the  first  love 
of  so  charming  a  young  man.  She  did  not  go  so  far 
as  to  wish  herself  a  sharer  in  the  sentiment,  but  she 
thought  it  heroism  on  her  part  to  repress  the  capriccio^ 
as  the  Italians  say.  She  thought  she  was  equalling 
Camille' s  devotion,  and  told  herself,  moreover,  that 
she  was  sacrificing  herself  to  her  friend.  The  vanities 
peculiar  to  Frenchwomen,  which  constitute  the  cele- 
brated coquetry  of  which  she  was  so  signal  an  in- 
stance, were  flattered  and  deeply  satisfied  by  Calyste's 
love.  Assailed  by  such  powerful  seduction,  she  was 
resisting  it,  and  her  virtues  sang  in  her  soul  a  concert 
of  praise  and  self -approval. 


BSatrix.  221 

The  two  women  were  half-sitting,  half  lying,  in 
apparent  indolence  on  the  divan  of  the  little  salon, 
so  filled  with  harmony  and  the  fragrance  of  flowers. 
The  windows  were  open,  for  the  north  wind  had  ceased 
to  blow.  A  soothing  southerly  breeze  was  ruffling  the 
surface  of  the  salt  lake  before  them,  and  the  sun  was 
glittering  on  the  sands  of  the  shore.  Their  souls  were 
as  deeply  agitated  as  the  nature  before  them  was  tran- 
quil, and  the  heat  within  was  not  less  ardent. 

Bruised  by  the  working  of  the  machinery  which 
she  herself  had  set  in  motion,  Camille  was  compelled 
to  keep  watch  for  her  safety,  fearing  the  amazing 
cleverness  of  the  friendly  enemy,  or,  rather,  the  inim- 
ical friend  she  had  allowed  within  her  borders.  To 
guard  her  own  secrets  and  maintain  herself  aloof,  she 
had  taken  of  late  to  contemplations  of  nature;  she 
cheated  the  aching  of  her  own  heart  by  seeking  a 
meaning  in  the  world  around  her,  finding  God  in  that 
desert  of  heaven  and  earth.  When  an  unbeliever  once 
perceives  the  presence  of  God,  he  flings  himself  unre- 
servedly into  Catholicism,  which,  viewed  as  a  system, 
is  complete. 

That  morning  Camille' s  brow  had  worn  the  halo 
of  thoughts  bom  of  these  researches  during  a  night- 
time of  painful  struggle.  Calyste  was  ever  before  her 
like  a  celestial  image.  The  beautiful  youth,  to  whom 
she  had  secretly  devoted  herself,  had  become  to  her  a 
guardian  angel.  Was  it  not  he  who  led  her  into 
those  loftier  regions,  where  suffering  ceased  beneath 
the  weight  of  incommensurable  infinity?  and  now  a 
certain  air  of  triumph  about  Beatrix  disturbed  her. 
No  woman  gains  an  advantage  over  another  without 


222  Biatrix. 

allowing  it  to  be  felt,  however  much  she  may  deny 
having  taken  it.  Nothing  was  ever  more  strange  in 
its  course  than  the  dumb,  moral  struggle  which  was 
going  on  between  these  two  women,  each  hiding  from 
the  other  a  secret,  —  each  believing  herself  generous 
through  hidden  sacrifices. 

Calyste  arrived,  holding  the  letter  between  his  hand 
and  his  glove,  ready  to  slip  it  at  some  convenient 
moment  into  the  hand  of  Beatrix.  Camille,  whom  the 
subtle  change  in  the  manner  of  her  friend  had  not 
escaped,  seemed  not  to  watch  her,  but  did  watch  her 
in  a  mirror  at  the  moment  when  Calyste  was  just  enter- 
ing the  room.  That  is  always  a  crucial  moment  for 
women.  The  cleverest  as  well  as  the  silliest  of  them, 
the  frankest  as  the  shrewdest,  are  seldom  able  to  keep 
their  secret;  it  bursts  from  them,  at  any  rate,  to  the 
eyes  of  another  woman.  Too  much  reserve  or  too 
little ;  a  free  and  luminous  look ;  the  mysterious  lower- 
ing of  eyelids,  —  all  betray,  at  that  sudden  moment,  the 
sentiment  which  is  the  most  difficult  of  all  to  hide; 
for  real  indifference  has  something  so  radically  cold 
about  it  that  it  can  never  be  simulated.  Women 
have  a  genius  for  shades,  —  shades  of  detail,  shades  of 
character;  they  know  them  all.  There  are  times  when 
their  eyes  take  in  a  rival  from  head  to  foot;  they  can 
guess  the  slightest  movement  of  a  foot  beneath  a  gown, 
the  almost  imperceptible  motion  of  the  waist;  they 
know  the  significance  of  things  which,  to  a  man,  seem 
insignificant.  Two  women  observing  each  other  play 
one  of  the  choicest  scenes  of  comedy  that  the  world 
can  show. 

''Calyste    has    committed    some    folly,"    thought 


BUtrix.  223 

Camille,  perceiving  in  each  of  her  guests  that  indefin- 
able air  of  persons  who  have  a  mutual  understanding. 

There  was  no  longer  either  stiffness  or  pretended 
indifference  on  the  part  of  Beatrix;  she  now  regarded 
Calyste  as  her  own  property.  Calyste  was  even  more 
transparent;  he  colored,  as  guilty  people,  or  happy 
people  color.  He  announced  that  he  had  come  to  make 
arrangements  for  the  excursion  on  the  following  day. 

**Then  you  really  intend  to  go,  my  dear?"  said 
Camille,  interrogatively. 

"Yes,"  said  Beatrix. 

*'How  did  you  know  it,  Calyste?"  asked  Made- 
moiselle des  Touches. 

''I  came  here  to  find  out,"  replied  Calyste,  on  a  look 
flashed  at  him  by  Madame  de  Rochefide,  who  did  not 
wish  Camille  to  gain  the  slightest  inkling  of  their 
correspondence. 

''They  have  an  agreement  together,"  thought 
Camille,  who  caught  the  look  in  the  powerful  sweep 
of  her  eye. 

Under  the  pressure  of  that  thought  a  hoiTible  dis- 
composure overspread  her  face  and  frightened 
Beatrix. 

"What  is  the  matter,  my  dear?  "  she  cried. 

*' Nothing.  Well,  then,  Calyste,  send  my  horses 
and  yours  across  to  Croisic,  so  that  we  may  drive 
home  by  way  of  Batz.  We  will  breakfast  at  Croisic, 
and  get  home  in  time  for  dinner.  You  must  take 
charge  of  the  boat  arrangements.  Let  us  start  by 
half-past  eight.  You  will  see  some  fine  sights, 
Beatrix,  and  one  very  strange  one;  you  will  see 
Cambremer,  a  man  who  does  penance  on  a  rock  for 


224  Beatrix. 

having  wilfully  killed  his  son.  Oh!  you  are  in  a 
primitive  land,  among  a  primitive  race  of  people, 
where  men  are  moved  by  other  sentiments  than  those 
of  ordinary  mortals.  Calyste  shall  tell  you  the  tale ; 
it  is  a  drama  of  the  seashore." 

She  went  into  her  bedroom,  for  she  was  stifling. 
Calyste  gave  his  letter  to  Beatrix  and  followed 
Camille. 

''Calyste,  you  are  loved,  T  think;  but  you  are  hiding 
something  from  me;  you  have  done  some  foolish 
thing." 

"Loved!  "  he  exclaimed,  dropping  into  a  chair. 

Camille  looked  into  the  next  room;  Beatrix  had 
disappeared.  The  fact  was  odd.  Women  do  not 
usually  leave  a  room  which  contains  the  man  they 
admire,  unless  they  have  either  the  certainty  of  seeing 
him  again,  or  spmething  better  still.  Mademoiselle 
des  Touches  said  to  herself :  — 

"  Can  he  have  given  her  a  letter?  "  I 

But  she  thought  the  innocent  Breton  incapable  of 
such  boldness. 

"If  you  have  disobeyed  me,  all  will  be  lost,  through 
your  own  fault,"  she  said  to  him  very  gravely.  "Go, 
now,  and  make  your  preparations  for  to-morrow." 

She  made  a  gesture  which  Calyste  did  not  venture  to 
resist. 

As  he  walked  toward  Croisic,  to  engage  the  boat- 
men, fears  came  into  Calyste' s  mind.  Camille' s. 
speech  foreshadowed  something  fatal,  and  he  believed 
in  the  second  sight  of  her  maternal  affection.  When 
he  returned,  four  hours  later,  very  tired,  and  expecting 
to   dine   at   Les   Touches,  he   found  Camille' s   maid 


Bdatrix,  225 

keeping  watch  over  the  door,  to  tell  him  that  neither 
her  mistress  nor  the  marquise  could  receive  him  that 
evening.  Calyste,  much  surprised,  wished  to  ques- 
tion her,  but  she  bade  him  hastily  good-night  and 
closed  the  door. 

Six  o'clock  was  striking  on  the  steeple  of  Guerande 
as  Calyste  entered  his  own  house,  where  Mariotte  gave 
him  his  belated  dinner;  after  which,  he  played  mouche 
in  gloomy  meditation.  These  alternations  of  joy  and 
gloom,  happiness  and  unhappiness,  the  extinction  of 
hopes  succeeding  the  apparent  certainty  of  being 
loved,  bruised  and  wounded  the  young  soul  which  had 
flown  so  high  on  outstretched  wings  that  the  fall  was 
dreadful. 

''Does  anything  trouble  you,  my  Calyste?  "  said  his 
mother. 

"Nothing,"  he  replied,  looking  at  her  with  eyes 
from  which  the  light  of  the  soul  and  the  fire  of  love 
were  withdrawn. 

It  is  not  hope,  but  despair,  which  gives  the  measure 
of  our  ambitions.  The  finest  poems  of  hope  are  sung 
in  secret,  but  grief  appears  without  a  veil. 

"Calyste,  you  are  not  nice,"  said  Charlotte,  after 
vainly  attempting  upon  him  those  little  provincial 
witcheries  which  degenerate  usually  into  teasing. 

"I  am  tired,"  he  said,  rising,  and  bidding  the  com- 
pany good-night. 

"  Calyste  is  much  changed,"  remarked  Mademoiselle 
de  Pen-Hoel. 

''We  haven't  beautiful  dresses  trimmed  with  lace; 
we  don't  shake  our  sleeves  like  this,  or  twist  our 
bodies  like  that;  we  don't  know  how  to  give  sidelong 

16 


226  Beatrix. 

glances,  and  turn  our  eyes,"  said  Charlotte,  mimick- 
ing the  air,  and  attitude,  and  the  glances  of  the  mar- 
quise. "  We  have  n't  that  head  voice,  nor  the  interest- 
ing little  cough,  heu  I  heu  !  which  sounds  like  the  sigh 
of  a  spook;  we  have  the  misfortune  of  being  healthy 
and  robust,  and  of  loving  our  friends  without  coquetry ; 
and  when  we  look  at  them,  we  don't  pretend  to  stick 
a  dart  into  them,  or  to  watch  them  slyly;  we  can't 
bend  our  heads  like  a  weeping  willow,  just  to  look 
the  more  interesting  when  we  raise  them  —  this  way." 

Mademoiselle  de  Pen-Hoel  could  not  help  laughing 
at  her  niece's  gesture;  but  neither  the  chevalier  nor 
the  baron  paid  any  heed  to  this  truly  provincial  satire 
against  Paris. 

"  But  the  Marquise  de  Rochefide  is  a  very  handsome 
woman,"  said  the  old  maid. 

*^My  dear,"  said  the  baroness  to  her  husband,  "I 
happen  to  know  that  she  is  going  over  to  Croisic  to- 
morrow. Let  us  walk  on  the  jetty ;  I  should  like  to 
see  her." 

While  Calyste  was  racking  his  brains  to  imagine 
what  could  have  closed  the  doors  of  Les  Touches  to 
him,  a  scene  was  passing  between  Camille  and 
Beatrix  which  was  to  have  its  influence  on  the  events 
of  the  morrow. 

Calyste' 8  last  letter  had  stirred  in  Madame  de 
Rochefide' s  heart  emotions  hitherto  unknown  to  it. 
Women  are  not  often  the  object  of  a  love  so  young, 
guileless,  sincere,  and  unconditional  as  that  of  this 
youth,  this  child.  Beatrix  had  loved  more  than  she 
had  been  loved.  After  being  all  her  life  a  slave, 
she  suddenly  felt  an  inexplicable  desire  to  be  a  tyrant 


Beatrix.  227 

But,  in  the  midst  of  her  pleasure,  as  she  read  and 
re-read  the  letter,  she  was  pierced  through  and  through 
with  a  cruel  idea. 

What  were  Calyste  and  Camille  doing  together  ever 
since  Claude  Vignon's  departure?  If,  as  Calyste 
said,  he  did  not  love  Camille,  and  if  Camille  knew  it, 
how  did  they  employ  their  mornings,  and  why  were 
they  alone  together  ?  Memory  suddenly  flashed  into  her 
mind,  in  answer  to  these  questions,  certain  speeches  of 
Camille ;  a  grinning  devil  seemed  to  show  her,  as  in 
a  magic  mirror,  the  portrait  of  that  heroic  woman, 
with  certain  gestures,  certain  aspects,  which  suddenly 
enlightened  her.  What!  instead  of  being  her  equal, 
was  she  crushed  by  Felicite?  instead  of  over-reaching 
her,  was  she  being  over-reached  herself?  was  she  only 
a  toy,  a  pleasure,  which  Camille  was  giving  to  her 
child,  whom  she  loved  with  an  extraordinary  passion 
that  was  free  from  all  vulgarity? 

To  a  woman  like  Beatrix  this  thought  came  like  a 
thunder-clap.  She  went  over  in  her  mind  minutely 
the  history  of  the  past  week.  In  a  moment  the  part 
which  Camille  was  playing,  and  her  own,  unrolled 
themselves  to  their  fullest  extent  before  her  eyes ;  she 
felt  horribly  belittled.  In  her  fury  of  jealous  anger, 
she  fancied  she  could  see  in  Camille's  conduct  an 
intention  of  vengeance  against  Conti.  Was  the 
hidden  wrath  of  the  past  two  years  really  acting  upon 
the  present  moment? 

Once  on  the  path  of  these  doubts  and  suppositions, 
Beatrix  did  not  pause.  She  walked  up  and  down  her 
room,  driven  to  rapid  motion  by  the  impetuous  move- 
ments of  her  soul,  sitting  down  now  and  then,  and 


228  Beatrix. 

trying  to  decide  upon  a  course,  but  unable  to  do  so. 
And  thus  she  remained,  a  prey  to  indecision  until 
the  dinner  hour,  when  she  rose  hastily,  and  went 
downstairs  without  dressing.  No  sooner  did  Camille 
see  her,  than  she  felt  that  a  crisis  had  come.  Beatrix, 
in  her  morning  gown,  with  a  chilling  air  and  a  taci- 
turn manner,  indicated  to  an  observer  as  keen  as 
Maupin  the  coming  hostilities  of  an  embittered  heart. 

Camille  instantly  left  the  room  and  gave  the  order 
which  so  astonished  Calyste ;  she  feared  that  he  might 
arrive  in  the  midst  of  the  quarrel,  and  she  determined 
to  be  alone,  without  witnesses,  in  fighting  this  duel  of 
deception  on  both  sides.  Beatrix,  without  an  auxil- 
iary, would  infallibly  succumb.  Camille  well  knew 
the  barrenness  of  that  soul,  the  pettiness  of  that  pride, 
to  which  she  had  justly  applied  the  epithet  of 
obstinate. 

The  dinner  was  gloomy.  Camille  was  gentle  and 
kind;  she  felt  herself  the  superior  being.  Beatrix 
was  hard  and  cutting ;  she  felt  she  was  being  managed 
like  a  child.  During  dinner  the  battle  began  with 
glances,  gestures,  half-spoken  sentences,  —  not  enough 
to  enlighten  the  servants,  but  enough  to  prepare  an 
observer  for  the  coming  storm.  When  the  time  to  go 
upstairs  came,  Camille  offered  her  arm  maliciously 
to  Beatrix,  who  pretended  not  to  see  it,  and  sprang 
up  the  stairway  alone.  When  coffee  had  been  served 
Mademoiselle  des  Touches  said  to  the  footman,  "You 
may  go,'*  —  a  brief  sentence,  which  served  as  a  signal 
for  the  combat. 

"The  novels  you  make,  my  dear,  are  more  danger- 
ous than  those  you  write,"  said  the  marquise. 


BSatrix.  229 

"They  have  one  advantage,  however,"  replied 
Camille,  lighting  a  cigarette. 

*' What  is  that?  "  asked  Beatrix. 

"They  are  unpublished,  my  angel." 

"Is  the  one  in  which  you  are  putting  me  to  be 
turned  into  a  book  ?  " 

"I  've  no  fancy  for  the  role  of  CEdipus;  I  know  you 
have  the  wit  and  beauty  of  a  sphinx,  but  don't  pro- 
pound conundrums.  Speak  out,  plainly,  my  dear 
Beatrix." 

"When,  in  order  to  make  a  man  happy,  amuse  him, 
please  him,  and  save  him  from  ennui,  we  allow  the 
devil  to  help  us  —  " 

"That  man  would  reproach  us  later  for  our  efforts 
on  his  behalf,  and  would  think  them  prompted  by  the 
genius  of  depravity,"  said  Camille,  taking  the  cigar- 
ette from  her  lips  to  interrupt  her  friend. 

"He  forgets  the  love  which  carried  us  away,  and 
is  our  sole  justification  —  but  that  *s  the  way  of  men, 
they  are  all  unjust  and  ungrateful,"  continued  Beatrix. 
"Women  among  themselves  know  each  other;  they 
know  how  proud  and  noble  their  own  minds  are,  and, 
let  us  frankly  say  so,  how  virtuous!  But,  Camille,  I 
have  just  recognized  the  truth  of  certain  criticisms 
upon  your  nature,  of  which  you  have  sometimes  com- 
plained. My  dear,  you  have  something  of  the  man 
about  you;  you  behave  like  a  man;  nothing  restrains 
you;  if  you  haven't  all  a  man's  advantages,  you  have 
a  man's  spirit  in  all  your  ways;  and  you  share  his 
contempt  for  women.  I  have  no  reason,  my  dear,  to 
be  satisfied  with  you,  and  I  am  too  frank  to  hide  my 
dissatisfaction.     No  one  has  ever  given  or  ever  will 


230  BUtrix, 

give,  perhaps,  so  crael  a  wound  to  my  heart  as  that  from 
which  I  am  now  suffering.  If  you  are  not  a  woman 
in  love,  you  are  one  in  vengeance.  It  takes  a  woman 
of  genius  to  discover  the  most  sensitive  spot  of  all  in 
another  woman's  delicacy.  I  am  talking  now  of 
Calyste,  and  the  trickery,  my  dear,  —  that  is  the  word, 
—  trickery^  —  you  have  employed  against  me.  To 
what  depths  have  you  descended,  Camille  Maupin! 
and  why?" 

"More  and  more  sphinx-like!  "  said  Camille, 
smiling. 

"You  want  me  to  fling  myself  at  Calyste' s  head; 
but  I  am  still  too  young  for  that  sort  of  thing.  To 
me,  love  is  sacred ;  love  is  love  with  all  its  emotions, 
jealousies,  and  despotisms.  I  am  not  an  author;  it  is 
impossible  for  me  to  see  ideas  where  the  heart  feels 
sentiments." 

"You  think  yourself  capable  of  loving  foolishly!" 
said  Camille.  "Make  yourself  easy  on  that  score; 
you  still  have  plenty  of  sense.  My  dear,  you  calum- 
niate yourself ;  I  assure  you  that  your  nature  is  cold 
enough  to  enable  your  head  to  judge  of  every  action 
of  your  heart." 

The  marquise  colored  high;  she  darted  a  look  of 
hatred,  a  venomous  look,  at  Camille,  and  found,  with- 
out searching,  the  sharpest  arrows  in  her  quiver. 
Camille  smoked  composedly  as  she  listened  to  a  furious 
tirade,  which  rang  with  such  cutting  insults  that  we 
do  not  reproduce  it  here.  Beatrix,  irritated  by  the 
calmness  of  her  adversary,  condescended  even  to  per- 
sonalities on  Camille' s  age. 

"Is  that  all?"  said  Felicity,  when  Beatrix  paused, 


Biatriz,  281 

hating  a  cloud  of  smoke  exhale  from  her  lips.     ''Do 
you  love  Calyste?  " 

*'No;  of  course  not." 

"So  much  the  better,"  replied  Camille.  "I  do  love 
him  —  far  too  much  for  my  peace  of  mind.  He  may, 
perhaps,  have  had  a  passing  fancy  for  you;  for  you 
are,  you  know,  enchantingly  fair,  while  I  am  as  black 
as  a  crow ;  you  are  slim  and  willowy,  while  I  have  a 
portly  dignity;  in  short,  you  are  young !  —  that 's  the 
final  word,  and  you  have  not  spared  it  to  me.  You 
have  abused  your  advantages  as  a  woman  against  me. 
I  have  done  my  best  to  prevent  what  has  now  hap- 
pened. However  little  of  a  woman  you  may  think  me, 
I  am  woman  enough,  my  dear,  not  to  allow  a  rival  to 
ti'iumph  over  me  unless  I  choose  to  help  her."  (This 
remark,  made  in  apparently  the  most  innocent  man- 
ner, cut  the  marquise  to  the  heart).  ''You  take  me 
for  a  very  silly  person  if  you  believe  all  that  Calyste 
tries  to  make  you  think  of  me.  I  am  neither  so  great 
nor  so  small;  I  am  a  woman,  and  very  much  of  a 
woman.  Come,  put  off  your  grand  airs,  and  give  me 
your  hand  I "  continued  Camille,  taking  Madame  de 
Rochefide's  hand.  "You  do  not  love  Calyste,  you 
say;  that  is  true,  is  it  not?  Don't  be  angry,  there- 
fore; be  hard,  and  cold,  and  stern  to  him  to-morrow; 
he  will  end  by  submitting  to  his  fate,  especially  after 
certain  little  reproaches  which  I  mean  to  make  to 
him.  Still,  Calyste  is  a  Breton,  and  very  persistent; 
if  he  should  continue  to  pay  court  to  you,  tell  me 
frankly,  and  I  will  lend  you  my  little  country  house 
near  Paris,  where  you  will  find  all  the  comforts  of  life, 
and   where  Conti  can  come  out  and  see  you.     You 


232  Beatrix. 

said  just  now  that  Calyste  calumniated  me.  Good 
heavens!  what  of  that?  The  purest  love  lies  twenty 
times  a  day;  its  deceptions  only  prove  its  strength." 

Camille's  face  wore  an  air  of  such  superb  disdain 
that  the  marquise  grew  fearful  and  anxious.  She 
knew  not  how  to  answer.  Camille  dealt  her  a  last 
blow. 

"I  am  more  confiding  and  less  bitter  than  you,"  she 
said.  ''I  don't  suspect  you  of  attempting  to  cover 
by  a  quarrel  a  secret  injury,  which  would  compromise 
my  very  life.  You  know  me;  I  shall  never  survive  the 
loss  of  Calyste,  but  I  must  lose  him  sooner  or  later. 
Still,  Calyste  loves  me  now ;  of  that  I  am  sure. " 

"Here  is  what  he  answered  to  a  letter  of  mine, 
urging  him  to  be  true  to  you,"  said  Beatrix,  holding 
out  Calyste 's  last  letter. 

Camille  took  it  and  read  it;  but  as  she  read  it,  her 
eyes  filled  with  tears;  and  presently  she  wept  as 
women  weep  in  their  bitterest  sorrows. 

"My  God!  "  she  said,  "how  he  loves  her!  I  shall 
die  without  being  understood  —  or  loved,"  she  added. 

She  sat  for  a  few  moments  with  her  head  leaning 
against  the  shoulder  of  her  companion ;  her  grief  was 
genuine;  she  felt  to  the  very  core  of  her  being  the 
same  terrible  blow  which  the  Baronne  du  Guenic  had 
received  in  reading  that  letter. 

"Do  you  love  him?"  she  said,  straightening  herself 
up,  and  looking  fixedly  at  Beatrix.  "Have  you  that 
infinite  worship  for  him  which  triumphs  over  all  pains, 
survives  contempt,  betrayal,  the  certainty  that  he  will 
never  love  you?  Do  you  love  him  for  himself,  and 
for  the  very  joy  of  loving  him? " 


B6atrix  233 

**Dear  friend, "'said  the  marquise,  tenderly,  ''be 
happy,  be  at  peace;  1  will  leave  this  place  to-morrow." 

"No,  do  not  go;  he  loves  you,  I  see  that.  Well,  I 
love  him  so  much  that  I  could  not  endure  to  see  him 
wretched  and  unhappy.  Still,  I  had  formed  plans  for 
him,  projects;  but  if  he  loves  you,  all  is  over." 

*'And  I  love  him,  Camille,"  said  the  marquise,  with 
a  sort  of  naivete^  and  coloring. 

''You  love  him,  and  yet  you  cast  him  off!  "  cried 
Camille.  "Ah!  that  is  not  loving;  you  do  not  love 
him." 

"I  don't  know  what  fresh  virtue  he  has  roused  in 
me,  but  certainly  he  has  made  me  ashamed  of  my 
own  self,"  said  Beatrix.  "I  would  I  were  virtuous 
and  free,  that  I  might  give  him  something  better 
than  the  dregs  of  a  heart  and  the  weight  of  my  chains. 
I  do  not  want  a  hampered  destiny  either  for  him 
or  for  myself." 

"Cold  brain!"  exclaimed  Camille,  with  a  sort  of 
horror.     "  To  love  and  calculate !  " 

"  Call  it  what  you  like,"  said  Beatrix,  "but  I  will  not 
spoil  his  life,  or  hang  like  a  millstone  round  his  neck, 
to  become  an  eternal  regret  to  him.  If  I  cannot  be  his 
wife,  I  shall  not  be  his  mistress.  He  has  —  you  will 
laugh  at  me?    No?    Well,  then,  he  has  purified  me." 

Camille  cast  on  Beatrix  the  most  sullen,  savage 
look  that  female  jealousy  ever  cast  upon  a  rival. 

"On  that  ground,  I  believed  I  stood  alone,"  she 
said.  "Beatrix,  those  words  of  yours  must  separate 
us  forever;  we  are  no  longer  friends.  Here  begins 
a  terrible  conflict  between  us.  I  tell  you  now:  you 
will  either  succumb  or  fly." 


234  Beatrix. 

So  saying,  Camille  bounded  into  her  room,  after 
showing  her  face,  which  was  that  of  a  maddened 
lioness,  to  the  astonished  Beatrix.  Then  she  raised 
the  portiere  and  looked  in  again. 

*'Do  you  intend  to  go  to  Croisic  to-morrow,"  she 
asked. 

*' Certainly,"  replied  the  marquise,  proudly.  "I 
shall  not  fly,  and  I  shall  not  succumb." 

''I  play  above  board,"  replied  Camille;  "I  shall 
write  to  Conti." 

Beatrix  became  as  white  as  the  gauze  of  her  scarf. 

"We  are  staking  our  lives  on  this  game,"  she  re- 
plied, not  knowing  what  to  say  or  do. 

The  violent  passions  roused  by  this  scene  between  the 
two  women  calmed  down  during  the  night.  Both  argued 
with  their  own  minds  and  returned  to  those  treacher- 
ously temporizing  courses  which  are  so  attractive  to 
the  majority  of  women,  —  an  excellent  system  between 
men  and  women,  but  fatally  unsafe  among  women 
alone.  In  the  midst  of  this  tumult  of  their  souls 
Mademoiselle  des  Touches  had  listened  to  that  great 
Voice  whose  counsels  subdue  "the  strongest  will; 
Beatrix  heard  only  the  promptings  of  worldly  wis- 
dom ;  she  feared  the  contempt  of  society. 

Thus  Felicite's  last  deception  succeeded;  Calyste's 
blunder  was  repaired,  but  a  fresh  indiscretion  might 
be  fatal  to  him. 


Beatrix,  235 


XIV. 

AN   EXCURSION  TO   CROISIC. 

It  was  now  the  end  of  August,  and  the  sky  was 
magnificently  clear.  Near  the  horizon  the  sea  had 
taken,  as  it  is  wont  to  do  in  southern  climes,  a  tint  of 
molten  silver ;  on  the  shore  it  rippled  in  tiny  waves. 
A  sort  of  glowing  vapor,  an  effect  of  the  rays  of  the 
sun  falling  plumb  upon  the  sands,  produced  an  atmos- 
phere like  that  of  the  tropics.  The  salt  shone  up  like 
bunches  of  white  violets  on  the  surface  of  the  marsh. 
The  patient  paludiers,  dressed  in  white  to  resist  the 
action  of  the  sun,  had  been  from  early  morning  at 
their  posts,  armed  with  long  rakes.  Some  were  lean«- 
ing  on  the  low  mud-walls  that  divided  the  different 
holdings,  whence  they  watched  the  process  of  this 
natural  chemistry,  known  to  them  from  childhood. 
Others  were  playing  with  their  wives  and  children. 
Those  green  dragons,  otherwise  called  custom-house 
officers,  were  tranquilly  smoking  their  pipes. 

There  was  something  foreign,  perhaps  oriental, 
about  the  scene ;  *at  any  rate  a  Parisian  suddenly  trans- 
ported thither  would  never  have  supposed  himself  in 
France.  The  baron  and  baroness,  who  had  made  a 
pretext  of  coming  to  see  how  the  salt  harvest  throve, 
were  on  the  jetty,  admiring  the  silent  landscape,  whore 
the  sea  alone  soundetl  the  moan  of  her  waves  at  regular 


236  '        Beatrix. 

intervals,  where  boats  and  vessels  tracked  a  vast  ex- 
panse, and  the  girdle  of  green  earth  richly  cultivated, 
pi-oduced  an  effect  that  was  all  the  more  charming  be- 
cause so  rare  on  the  desolate  shores  of  ocean. 

'^  Well,  my  friends,  I  wanted  to  see  the  marshes  of 
Guerande  once  more  before  I  die,"  said  the  baron  to 
the  paludiers^  who  had  gathered  about  the  entrance  of 
the  marshes  to  salute  him. 

"  Can  a  Guenic  die?"  said  one  of  them. 

Just  then  the  party  from  Les  Touches  arrived 
through  the  narrow  pathway.  The  marquise  walked 
first  alone ;  Calyste  and  Camille  followed  arm-in-arm. 
Gasselin  brought  up  the  rear. 

''  There  are  my  father  and  mother,"  said  the  young 
man  to  Camille. 

The  marquise  stopped  short.  Madame  du  Guenic 
felt  the  most  violent  repulsion  at  the  appearance  of 
Beatrix,  although  the  latter  was  dressed  to  much  ad- 
vantage. A  Leghorn  hat  with  wide  brims  and  a 
wreath  of  blue-bells,  her  crimped  hair  fluffy  beneath  it, 
a  gown  of  some  gray  woollen  stuff,  and  a  blue  sash 
with  floating  ends  gave  her  the  air  of  a  princess  dis- 
guised as  a  milkmaid. 

"  She  has  no  heart,"  thought  the  baroness. 

''  Mademoiselle,"  said  Calyste  to  Camille,  ''  this  is 
Madame  du  Guenic,  and  this  is  my  father."  Then  he 
said  turning  to  the  baron  and  baroness,  "  Mademoiselle 
des  Touches,  and  Madame  la  Marquise  de  Rochefide, 
nee  de  Casteran,  father." 

The  baron  bowed  to  Mademoiselle  des  Touches,  who 
made  a  respectful  bow,  full  of  gratitude,  to  the 
baroness. 


Beatrix.  237 

"  That  one,"  thought  Fanny,  **  really  loves  my  boy ; 
she  seems  to  thank  me  for  bringing  him  into  the  world." 

**I  suppose  you  have  come  to  see,  as  I  have, 
whether  the  harvest  is  a  good  one.  But  I  believe  you 
have  better  reasons  for  doing  so  than  I,"  said  the 
baron  to  Camille.  *'  You  have  property  here,  1  think, 
mademoiselle." 

'*  Mademoiselle  is  the  largest  of  all  the  owners,"  said 
one  of  the  paludiers  who  were  grouped  about  them, 
'*  and  may  God  preserve  her  to  us,  for  she  's  a  good 
lady." 

The  two  parties  bowed  and  separated. 

**  No  one  would  suppose  Mademoiselle  des  Touches 
to  be  more  than  thirty,"  said  the  baron  to  his  wife. 
'*  She  is  very  handsome.  And  Calyste  prefers  that 
haggard  Parisian  marquise  to  a  sound  Breton  girl !  " 

*^I  fear  he  does,"  replied  the  baroness. 

A  boat  was  waiting  at  the  steps  of  the  jetty,  where 
the  party  embarked  without  a  smile.  The  marquise 
was  cold  and  dignified.  Camille  had  lectured  Calyste 
on  his  disobedience,  explaining  to  him  clearly  how 
matters  stood.  Calyste,  a  prey  to  black  despair,  was 
casting  glances  at  Beatrix  in  which  anger  and  love 
struggled  for  the  mastery.  Not  a  word  was  said  by 
any  of  them  during  the  short  passage  from  the  jetty  of 
Guerande  to  the  extreme  end  of  the  port  of  Croisic, 
the  point  where  the  boats  discharge  the  salt,  whicli  the 
peasant-women  then  bear  away  on  their  heads  in  huge 
earthen  jars  after  the  fashion  of  caryatides.  These 
women  go  barefooted  with  very  short  petticoats. 
Many  of  them  let  the  kerchiefs  which  cover  their 
bosoms  fly  carelessly  open.     Some  wear  only  shifts, 


238  Beatrix. 

and  are  the  more  dignified ;  for  the  less  clothing  a 
woman  wears,  the  more  nobly  modest  is  her  bearing. 

The  little  Danish  vessel  had  just  finished  lading,  there- 
fore the  landing  of  the  two  handsome  ladies  excited 
much  curiosity  among  the  female  salt-carriers  ;  and  as 
much  to  avoid  their  remarks  as  to  serve  Calyste,  Camille 
sprang  forward  toward  the  rocks,  leaving  him  to  follow 
with  Beatrix,  while  Gasselin  put  a  distance  of  some 
two  hundred  steps  between  himself  and  his  master. 

The  peninsula  of  Croisic  is  flanked  on  the  sea  side 
by  granite  rocks  the  shapes  of  which  are  so  strangely 
fantastic  that  they  can  only  be  appreciated  by  travellers 
who  are  in  a  position  to  compare  them  with  other  great 
spectacles  of  primeval  Nature.  Perhaps  the  rocks  of 
Croisic  have  the  same  advantage  over  sights  of  that 
kind  as  that  accorded  to  the  road  to  the  Grande 
Chartreuse  over  all  other  narrow  valleys.  Neither  the 
coasts  of  Corsica,  where  the  granite  bulwark  is  split 
into  strange  reefs,  nor  those  of  Sardinia,  where  Nature 
is  dedicated  to  grandiose  and  terrible  effects,  nor  even 
the  basaltic  rocks  of  .the  northern  seas  can  show  a 
character  so  unique  and  so  complete.  Fancy  has  here 
amused  itself  by  composing  interminable  arabesques 
where  the  most  fantastic  figures  wind  and  twine.  All 
forms  are  here.  The  imagination  is  at  last  fatigued 
by  this  vast  gallery  of  abnormal  shapes,  where  in 
stormy  weather  the  sea  makes  rough  assaults  which 
have  ended  in  polishing  all  ruggedness. 

You  will  find  under  a  naturally  vaulted  roof,  of  a 
boldness  imitated  from  afar  by  Brunelleschi  (for  the 
greatest  efforts  of  art  are  always  the  timid  copying  of 
effects   of   nature),   a   rocky   hollow   polished    like    a 


Beatrix.  289 

marble  bath-tub  and  floored  with  fine  white  sand,  in 
whicli  is  four  feet  of  tepid  water  where  you  can  bathe 
without  danger.  You  walk  on,  admiring  the  cool 
little  coves  sheltered  by  great  portals;  roughly  carved, 
it  is  true,  but  majestic,  like  the  Pitti  palace,  that 
other  imitation  of  the  whims  of  Nature.  Curious  fea- 
tures are  innumerable;  nothing  is  lacking  that  the 
wildest  imagination  could  invent  or  desire. 

There  even  exists  a  thing  so  rare  on  the  rocky  shores 
of  ocean  that  this  may  be  the  solitary  instance  of  it,  — 
a  large  bush  of  box.  This  bush,  the  greatest  curiosity 
of  Croisic,  where  trees  have  never  grown,  is  three  miles 
distant  from  the  harbor,  on  the  point  of  rocks  that 
runs  out  farthest  into  the  sea.  On  this  granite  prom- 
ontory, which  rises  to  a  height  that  neither  the  waves 
nor  the  spray  can  touch,  even  in  the  wildest  weather, 
and  faces  southerly,  diluvian  caprice  has  constructed 
a  hollow  basin,  which  projects  about  four  feet.  Into 
this  basin,  or  clef-t,  chance,  possibly  man,  has  con- 
veyed enough  vegetable  earth  for  the  growth  of  a  box- 
plant,  compact,  well-nourished,  and  sown,  no  doubt, 
by  birds.  The  shape  of  the  roots  would  indicate  to  a 
botanist  an  existence  of  at  least  three  hundred  years. 
Above  it  the  rock  has  been  broken  off  abruptly.  The 
natural  convulsion  which  did  this,  the  traces  of 
which  are  ineffaceably  written  here,  must  have  carried 
away  the  broken  fragments  of  the  granite  I  know  not 
where. 

The  sea  rushes  in,  meeting  no  reefs,  to  the  foot  of 
this  cliff,  which  rises  to  a  height  of  some  four  or  five 
hundred  feet;  at  its  base  lie  several  scattered  rocks, 
just  reaching  the  surface  at  high  water,  and  describing 


240  Beatrix. 

a  semi-circle.  It  requires  some  nerve  and  resolution 
to  climb  to  the  summit  ^of  this  little  Gibraltar,  the 
shape  of  which  is  nearly  round,  and  from  which  a 
sudden  gust  of  wind  might  precipitate  the  rash  gazer 
into  the  sea,  or,  still  more  to  be  feared,  upon  the  rocks. 

This  gigantic  sentinel  resembles  the  look-out  towers 
of  old  castles,  from  which  the  inhabitants  could  look 
the  country  over  and  foresee  attacks.  Thence  we  see 
the  clock  towers  and  the  arid  fields  of  Croisic,  with 
the  sandy  dunes,  which  injure  cultivation,  and  stretch 
as  far  as  Batz.  A  few  old  men  declare  that  in  days 
long  past  a  fortress  occupied  the  spot.  The  sardine- 
fishers  have  given  the  rock,  which  can  be  seen  far  out 
at  sea,  a  name ;  but  it  is  useless  to  write  it  here,  its 
Breton  consonants  being  as  diflScult  to  pronounce  as 
to  remember. 

Calyste  led  Beatrix  to  this  point,  whence  the  view 
is  magnificent,  and  where  the  natural  sculpture  of  the 
granite  is  even  more  imposing  to  the  spectator  than 
the  mass  of  the  huge  breastwork  when  seen  from  the 
sandy  road  which  skirts  the  shore. 

Is  it  necessary  to  explain  why  Camille  had  rushed 
away  alone?  Like  some  wounded  wild  animal,  she 
longed  for  solitude,  and  went  on  and  on,  threading 
her  way  among  the  fissures  and  caves  and  little  peaks 
of  nature's  fortress.  Not  to  be  hampered  in  climbing 
by  women's  clothing,  she  wore  trousers  with  frilled 
edges,  a  short  blouse,  a  peaked  cap,  and,  by  way 
of  staff,  she  carried  a  riding-whip,  for  Camille  has 
always  had  a  certain  vanity  in  her  strength  and  her 
agility.  Thus  arrayed,  she  looked  far  handsomer 
than  Beatrix.     She  wore  also  a  little  shawl  of  crimson 


Beatrix.  241 

China  crape,  crossed  on  her  bosom  and  tied  behind, 
as  they  dress  a  child.  For  some  time  Beatrix  and 
Calyste  saw  her  flitting  before  them  over  the  peaks 
and  chasms  like  a  ghost  or  vision ;  she  was  trying  to 
still  her  inward  sufferings  by  confronting  some  imag- 
inary peril. 

She  was  the  first  to  reach  the  rock  in  which  the  box- 
bush  grew.  There  she  sat  down  in  the  shade  of  a 
granite  projection,  and  was  lost  in  thought.  What 
could  a  woman  like  herself  do  with  old  age,  having 
already  drunk  the  cup  of  fame  which  all  great  talents, 
too  eager  to  sip  slowly  the  stupid  pleasures  of  vanity, 
quaff  at  a  single  draught?  She  has  since  admitted 
that  it  was  here  —  at  this  moment,  and  on  this  spot  — 
that  one  of  those  singular  reflections  suggested  by  a 
mere  nothing,  by  one  of  those  chance  accidents  that 
seem  nonsense  to  common  minds,  but  which,  to  noble 
souls,  do  sometimes  open  vast  depths  of  thought, 
decided  her  to  take  the  extraordinary  step  by  which 
she  was  to  part  forever  from  social  life. 

She  drew  from  her  pocket  a  little  box,  in  which  she 
had  put,  in  case  of  thirst,  some  strawberry  lozenges ; 
she  now  ate  several;  and  as  she  did  so,  the  thought 
crossed  her  mind  that  the  strawberries,  which  existed 
no  longer,  lived  nevertheless  in  their  qualities.  Was 
it  not  so  with  ourselves?  The  ocean  before  her  was 
an  image  of  the  infinite.  No  great  spirit  can  face  the 
infinite,  admitting  the  immortality  of  the  soul,  without 
the  conviction  of  a  future  of  holiness.  The  thought 
filled  her  mind.  How  petty  then  seemed  the  part  that 
she  was  playing!  there  was  no  real  greatness  in  giving 
Beatrix  to  Calyste!     So  thinking,  she  felt  the  earthly 

IC 


242  Beatrix. 

woman  die  within  her,  and  the  true  woman,  the  noble 
and  angelic  being,  veiled  until  now  by  flesh,  arose  in 
her  place.  Her  great  mind,  her  knowledge,  her  attain- 
ments, her  false  loves  had  brought  her  face  to  face 
with  what  ?  Ah !  who  would  have  thought  it  ? — with  the 
bounteous  mother,  the  comforter  of  troubled  spirits, 
with  the  Roman  Church,  ever  kind  to  repentance, 
poetic  to  poets,  childlike  with  children,  and  yet  so 
profound,  so  full  of  mystery  to  anxious,  restless 
minds  that  they  can  burrow  there  and  satisfy  all 
longings,  all  questionings,  all  hopjes.  She  cast  her 
eyes,  as  it  were,  upon  the  strangely  devious  way  — 
like  the  tortuous  rocky  path  before  her  —  over  which 
her  love  for  Calyste  had  led  her.  Ah !  Calyste  was 
indeed  a  messenger  from  heaven,  her  divine  conduc- 
tor! She  had  stifled  her  earthly  love,  and  a  divine 
love  had  come  of  it. 

After  walking  for  some  distance  in  silence,  Calyste 
could  not  refrain,  on  a  remark  of  Beatrix  about  the 
grandeur  of  the  ocean,  so  unlike  the  smiling  beauty 
of  the  Mediterranean,  from  comparing  in  depth, 
purity,  extent,  unchanging  and  eternal  duration,  that 
ocean  with  his  love. 

''It  is  met  by  a  rock!  "  said  Beatrix,  laughing. 

''When  you  speak  thus,"  he  answered,  with  a  sub- 
lime look,  "I  hear  you,  I  see  you,  and  I  can  summon 
to  my  aid  the  patience  of  the  angels;  but  when  I  am 
alone,  you  would  pity  me  if  you  could  see  me  then. 
My  mother  weeps  for  my  suffering." 

"Listen  to  me,  Calyste;  we  must  put  an  end  to  all 
this,"  said  the  marquise,  gazing  down  upon  the  sandy 
road.     "Perhaps  we  have  now  reached  the  only  propi- 


Beatrix.  243 

tious  place  to  say  these  things,  for  never  in  my  life 
did  I  see  nature  more  in  keeping  with  my  thoughts.  I 
have  seen  Italy,  where  all  things  tell  of  love ;  I  have 
seen  Switzerland,  where  all  is  cool  and  fresh,  and  tells 
of  happiness, — the  happiness  of  labor;  where  the 
verdure,  the  tranquil  waters,  the  smiling  slopes,  are 
oppressed  by  the  snow- topped  Alps ;  but  I  have  never 
seen  anything  that  so  depicts  the  burning  barrenness 
of  my  life  as  that  little  arid  plain  down  there,  dried 
by  the  salt  sea  winds,  corroded  by  the  spray,  where  a 
fruitless  agriculture  tries  to  struggle  against  the  will 
of  that  great  ocean.  There,  Calyste,  you  have  an 
image  of  this  Beatrix.  Don't  cling  to  it.  I  love  you, 
but  I  will  never  be  yours  in  any  way  whatever,  for  I 
have  the  sense  of  my  inward  desolation.  Ah !  you  do 
not  know  how  cruel  I  am  to  myself  in  speaking  thus 
to  you.  No,  you  shall  never  see  your  idol  diminished ; 
she  shall  never  fall  from  the  height  at  which  you  have 
placed  her.  I  now  have  a  horror  of  any  love  which 
disregards  the  world  and  religion.  I  shall  remain  in 
my  present  bonds ;  I  shall  be  that  sandy  plain  we  see 
before  us,  without  fruit  or  flowers  or  verdure." 

"  But  if  you  are  abandoned  ?  "  said  Calyste. 

''Then  I  should  beg  my  pardon  of  the  man  I  have 
offended.  I  will  never  run  the  risk  of  taking  a  happi- 
ness I  know  would  quickly  end." 

''End!"  cried  Calyste. 

The  marquise  stopped  the  passionate  speech  into 
which  her  lover  was  about  to  launch,  by  repeating  the 
word  *'End!  "  in  a  tone  that  silenced  him. 

This  opposition  roused  in  the  young  man  one  of 
those  mute  inward  furies  known  only  to  those  who 


244  Beatrix. 

love  without  hope.  They  walked  on  several  hundred 
stej^s  in  total  silence,  looking  neither  at  the  sea,  nor 
the  rocks,  nor  the  plain  of  Croisic. 

''I  would  make  you  happy,"  said  Calyste. 

''All  men  begin  by  promising  that,"  she  answered, 
"and  they  end  by  abandonment  and  disgust.  I  have 
no  reproach  to  cast  on  him  to  whom  I  sliall  be  faithful. 
He  made  me  no  promises ;  I  went  to  him ;  but  my  only 
means  of  lessening  my  fault  is  to  make  it  eternal." 

''Say  rather,  madame,  that  you  feel  no  love  for  me. 
I,  who  love  you,  I  know  that  love  cannot  argue ;  it  is 
itself;  it  sees  nothing  else.  There  is  no  sacrifice  I 
will  not  make  to  you ;  command  it,  and  I  will  do  the 
impossible.  He  who  despised  his  mistress  for  fling- 
ing her  glove  among  the  lions,  and  ordering  him  to 
bring  it  back  to  her,  did  not  love !  He  denied  your 
right  to  test  our  hearts,  and  to  yield  yourselves  only 
to  our  utmost  devotion.  I  will  sacrifice  to  you  my 
family,  my  name,  my  future." 

"But  what  an  insult  in  that  word  '  sacrifice  '  !  "  she 
said,  in  reproachful  tones,  which  made  poor  Calyste 
feel  the  folly  of  his  speech. 

None  but  women  who  truly  love,  or  inborn 
coquettes,  know  how  to  use  a  word  as  a  point  from 
which  to  make  a  spring. 

"You  are  right,"  said  Calyste,  letting  fall  a  tear; 
"that  word  can  only  be  said  of  the  cruel  struggles 
which  you  ask  of  me." 

"Hush!"  said  Beatrix,  struck  by  an  answer  in 
which,  for  the  first  time,  Calyste  had  really  made  her 
feel  his  love.  "I  have  done  wrong  enough;  tempt 
me  no  more. " 


Beatrix.  245 

At  this  moment  they  had  reached  the  base  of  the 
rock  on  which  grew  the  plant  of  box.  Calyste  felt  a 
thrill  of  delight  as  he  helped  the  marquise  to  climb 
the  steep  ascent  to  the  summit,  which  she  wished  to 
reach.  To  the  poor  lad  it  was  a  precious  privilege  to 
hold  her  up,  to  make  her  lean  upon  him,  to  feel  her 
tremble;  she  had  need  of  him.  This  unlooked-for 
pleasure  turned  his  head;  he  saw  nought  else  but 
Beatrix,  and  he  clasped  her  round  the  waist. 

"What!  "  she  said,  with  an  imposing  air. 

*'Will  you  never  be  mine?"  he  demanded,  in  a 
voice  that  was  choked  by  the  tumult  of  his  blood. 

"Never,  my  friend,"  she  replied.  "I  can  only  be  to 
you  a  Beatrix,  —  a  dream.  But  is  not  that  a  sweet 
and  tender  thing?  We  shall  have  no  bitterness,  no 
grief,  no  repentance." 

"Will  you  return  to  Conti?" 

"I  must." 

"You  shall  never  belong  to  any  man!"  cried 
Calyste,  pushing  her  from  him  with  frenzied  violence. 

He  listened  for  her  fall,  intending  to  spring  after 
her,  but  he  heard  only  a  muffled  sound,  the  tearing  of 
some  stuff,  and  then  the  thud  of  a  body  falling  on  the 
ground.  Instead  of  being  flung  head  foremost  down 
the  precipice,  Beatrix  had  only  slipped  some  eight  or 
ten  feet  into  the  cavity  where  box-bush  grew ;  but  she 
might  from  there  have  rolled  down  into  the  sea  if  her 
gown  had  not  caught  upon  a  point"  of  rock,  and  by 
tearing  slowly  lowered  the  weight  of  her  body  upon 
the  bush. 

Mademoiselle  des  Touches,  who  saw  the  scene,  was 
unable  in  her  horror  to  cry  out,  but  she  signed  to  Gas- 


246  Beatrix. 

selin  to  come.  Calyste  was  leaning  forward  with  an 
expression  of  savage  curiosity ;  he  saw  the  position  in 
which  Beatrix  lay,  and  he  shuddered.  Her  lips 
moved,  —  she  seemed  to  be  praying ;  in  fact,  she 
thought  she  was  about  to  die,  for  she  felt  the  bush 
beginning  to  give  way.  With  the  agility  which  dan- 
ger gives  to  youth,  Calyste  slid  down  to  the  ledge 
below  the  bush,  where  he  was  able  to  grasp  the  mar- 
quise and  hold  her,  although  at  the  risk  of  their  both 
sliding  down  into  the  sea.  As  he  held  her,  he  saw 
that  she  had  fainted ;  but  in  that  aerial  spot  he  could 
fancy  her  all  his,  and  his  first  emotion  was  that  of 
pleasure. 

"Open  your  eyes,"  he  said,  "and  forgive  me;  we 
will  die  together." 

"Die?"  she  said,  opening  her  eyes  and  unclosing 
her  pallid  lips. 

Calyste  welcomed  that  word  with  a  kiss,  and  felt 
the  marquise  tremble  under  it  convulsively,  with  pas- 
sionate joy.  At  that  instant  Gasselin's  hob-nailed 
shoes  sounded  on  the  rock  above  them.  The  old 
Breton  was  followed  by  Camille,  and  together  they 
sought  for  some  means  of  saving  the  lovers. 

"There's  but  one  way,  mademoiselle,"  said  Gas- 
selin.  "I  must  slide  down  there,  and  they  can  climb 
on  my  shoulders,  and  you  must  pull  them  up." 

"And  you?"  said  Camille. 

The  man  seemed  surprised  that  he  should  be  con- 
sidered in  presence  of  the  danger  to  his  young  master. 

"You  must  go  to  Croisic  and  fetch  a  ladder,"  said 
Camille. 

Beatrix  asked  in  a  feeble  voice  to  be  laid  down,  and 


Beatrix,  247 

C'lUyste  placed  her  on  the  narrow  space  between  the 
bush  and  its  background  of  rock. 

*'I  saw  you,  Calyste,"  said  Camille  from  above. 
"Whether  Beatrix  lives  or  dies,  remember  that  this 
must  be  an  accident." 

''She  will  hate  me,"  he  said,  with  moistened  eyes. 

"She  will  adore  you,"  replied  Camille.  *'But  this 
puts  an  end  to  our  excursion.  We  must  get  her  back 
to  Les  Touches.  Had  she  been  killed,  Calyste,  what 
would  have  become  of  you  ?  " 

"I  should  have  followed  her." 

"And  your  mother?"  Then,  after  a  pause,  she 
added,  feebly,  "and  me?" 

Calyste  was  deadly  pale;  he  stood  with  his  back 
against  the  granite  motionless  and  silent.  Gasselin 
soon  returned  from  one  of  the  little  farms  scattered 
through  the  neighborhood,  bearing  a  ladder  which  he 
had  borrowed.  By  this  time  Beatrix  had  recovered  a 
little  strength.  The  ladder  being  placed,  she  was 
able,  by  the  help  of  Gasselin,  who  lowered  Camille's 
red  shawl  till  she  could  grasp  it,  to  reach  the  round 
top  of  the  rock,  where  the  Breton  took  her  in  his 
arms  and  carried  her  to  the  shore  as  though  she  were 
an  infant. 

"I  should  not  have  said  no  to  death  —  but  suffer- 
ing! "  she  murmured  to  F^licite,  in  a  feeble  voice. 

The  weakness,  in  fact  the  complete  prostration,  of 
the  marquise  obliged  Camille  to  have  her  taken  to  the 
farmhouse  from  which  the  ladder  had  been  borrowed. 
Calyste,  Gasselin,  and  Camille  took  off  what  clothes 
they  could  spare  and  laid  them  on  the  ladder,  making 
a  sort  of  litter  on  which  they  carried  Beatrix.     The 


248'  Beatrix, 

farmers  gave  her  a  bed.  Gasselin  then  went  to  the 
place  where  the  carriage  was  awaiting  them,  and, 
taking  one  of  the  horses,  rode  to  Croisic  to  obtain  a 
doctor,  telling  the  boatman  to  row  to  the  landing-place 
that  was  nearest  to  the  farmhouse. 

Calyste,  sitting  on  a  stool,  answered  only  by 
motions  of  the  head,  and  rare  monosyllables  when 
spoken  to;  Cam ille's  uneasiness,  roused  for  Beatrix, 
was  still  further  excited  by  Calyste' s  unnatural  condi- 
tion. When  the  physician  arrived,  and  Beatrix  was 
bled,  she  felt  better,  began  to  talk,  and  consented  to 
embark;  so  that  by  five  o'clock  they  reached  the  jetty 
at  Guerande,  whence  she  was  carried  to  Les  Touches. 
The  news  of  the  accident  had  already  spread  through 
that  lonely  and  almost  uninhabited  region  with  in- 
credible rapidity. 

Calyste  passed  the  night  at  Les  Touches,  sitting  at 
the  foot  of  Beatrix's  bed,  in  company  with  Camille. 
The  doctor  from  Guerande  had  assured  them  that  on 
the  following  day  a  little  stiffness  would  be  all  that 
remained  of  the  accident.  Across  the  despair  of 
Calyste 's  heart  there  came  a  gleam  of  joy.  He  was 
there,  at  her  feet;  he  could  watch  her  sleeping  or 
waking;  he  might  study  her  pallid  face  and  all  its 
expressions.  Camille  smiled  bitterly  as  her  keen 
mind  recognized  in  Calyste  the  symptoms  of  a  passion 
such  as  man  can  feel  but  once,  —  a  passion  which  dyes 
his  soul  and  his  faculties  by  mingling  with  the  foun- 
tain of  his  life  at  a  period  when  neither  thoughts  nor 
cares  distract  or  oppose  the  inward  working  of  this 
emotion.  She  saw  that  Calj^ste  would  never,  could 
never  see  the  real  woman  that  was  in  Beatrix. 


Beatrix.  249 

And  with  what  guileless  innocence  the  young  Breton 
allowed  his  thoughts  to  be  read!  When  he  saw  the 
beautiful  green  eyes  of  the  sick  woman  turned  to  him, 
expressing  a  mixture  of  love,  confusion,  and  even 
mischief,  he  colored,  and  turned  away  his  head. 

"Did  I  not  say  truly,  Calyste,  that  you  men  prom- 
ised happiness,  and  ended  by  flinging  us  dojvn  a 
precipice?" 

When  he  heard  this  little  jest,  said  in  sweet,  caressing 
tones  which  betrayed  a  change  of  heart  in  Beatrix, 
Calyste  knelt  down,  took  her  moist  hand  which  she 
yielded  to  him,  and  kissed  it  humbly. 

"You  have  the  right  to  reject  my  love  forever,"  he 
said,  ''  and  I,  I  have  no  right  to  say  one  word  to  you." 

''Ah!"  cried  Camille,  seeing  the  expression  on 
Beatrix's  face  and  comparing  it  with  that  obtained  by 
her  diplomacy,  ''  love  has  a  wit  of  its  own,  wiser  than 
that  of  all  the  world  !  Take  your  composing-draught, 
my  dear  friend,  and  go  to  sleep." 

That  night,  spent  by  Calyste  beside  Mademoiselle 
des  Touches,  who  read  a  book  of  theological  mysticism 
while  Calyste  read  "  Indiana,"  —  the  first  work  of 
Camille's  celebrated  rival,  in  which  is  the  captivating 
image  of  a  young  man  loving  with  idolatry  and  devo- 
tion, with  mysterious  tranquillity  and  for  all  his  life,  a 
woman  placed  in  the  same  false  position  as  Beatrix  (a 
book  which  had  a  fatal  influence  upon  him),  —  that 
night  left  ineffaceable  marks  upon  the  heart  of  the  poor 
young  fellow,  whom  Felicite  soothed  with  the  assurance 
that  unless  a  woman  were  a  monster  she  must  be  flat- 
tered in  all  her  vanities  by  being  the  object  of  such  a 
crime. 


250  Beatrix, 

"  You  would  never  have  flung  me  into  the  water," 
said  Camille,  brushing  away  a  tear. 

Toward  morning,  Calyste,  worn-out  with  emotion, 
fell  asleep  in  his  arm-chair ;  and  the  marquise  in  her 
turn,  watched  his  charming  face,  paled  by  his  feelings 
and  his  vigil  of  love.  She  heard  him  murmur  her  name 
as  he  slept. 

*'  He  loves  while  sleeping,"  she  said  to  Camille. 

"  We  must  send  him  home,"  said  Felicite,  waking 
him. 

No  one  was  anxious  at  the  hotel  du  Guenic,  for 
Mademoiselle  des  Touches  had  written  a  line  to  the 
baroness  telling  her  of  the  accident. 

Calyste  returned  to  dinner  at  Les  Touches  and  found 
Beatrix  up  and  dressed,  but  pale,  feeble,  and  languid. 
No  longer  was  there  any  harshness  in  her  words  or  any 
coldness  in  her  looks.  After  this  evening,  filled  with 
music  by  Camille,  who  went  to  her  piano  to  leave 
Calyste  free  to  take  and  press  the  hands  of  Beatrix 
(though  both  were  unable  to  speak),  no  storms  occurred 
at  Les  Touches.     Felicite  completely  effaced  herself. 

Cold,  fragile,  thin,  hard  women  like  Madame  de 
Rochefide,  women  whose  necks  turn  in  a  manner  to 
give  them  a  vague  resemblance  to  the  feline  race,  have 
souls  of  the  same  pale  tint  as  their  light  eyes,  green  or 
gray ;  and  to  melt  them,  to  fuse  those  blocks  of  stone 
it  needs  a  thunderbolt.  To  Beatrix,  Calyste's  fury  of 
love  and  his  mad  action  came  as  the  thunderbolt  that 
nought  resists,  which  changes  all  natures,  even  the 
most  stubborn.  She  felt  herself  inwardly  humbled  ;  a 
true,  pure  love  bathed  her  heart  with  its  soft  and 
limpid  warmth.     She  breathed  a  sweet  and  genial  at- 


Beatrix,  251 

mosphere  of  feelings  hitherto  unknown  to  her,  by 
which  she  felt  herself  magnified,  elevated ;  in  fact  she 
rose  into  that  heaven  where  Bretons  throughout  all 
time  have  placed  the  Woman.  She  relished  with  de- 
light the  respectful  adoration  of  the  youth,  whose  hap- 
piness cost  her  little,  for  a  gesture,  a  look,  a  word  was 
enough  to  satisfy  him.  The  value  which  Calyste's  heart 
gave  to  these  trifles  touched  her  exceedingly ;  to  hold 
her  gloved  hand  was  more  to  that  young  angel  than 
the  possession  of  her  whole  person  to  the  man  who 
ought  to  have  been  faithful  to  her.  What  a  contrast 
between  them ! 

Few  women  could  resist  such  constant  deification. 
Beatrix  felt  herself  sure  of  being  obeyed  and  under- 
stood. She  might  have  asked  Calyste  to  risk  his  life 
for  the  slightest  of  her  caprices,  and  he  would  never 
have  reflected  for  a  moment.  This  consciousness  gave 
her  a  certain  noble  and  imposing  air.  She  saw  love 
on  the  side  of  its  grandeur ;  and  her  heart  sought  for 
some  foothold  on  which  she  might  remain  forever  the 
loftiest  of  women  in  the  eyes  of  her  young  lover,  over 
whom  she  now  wished  her  power  to  be  eternal. 

Her  coquetries  became  the'  more  persistent  because 
she  felt  within  herself  a  certain  weakness.  She  played 
the  invalid  for  a  whole  week  with  charming  hypocrisy. 
Again  and  again  she  walked  about  the  velvet  turf 
which  lay  between  the  house  and  garden  leaning  on 
Calyste's  arm  in  languid  dependence. 

**  Ah !  my  dear,  you  are  taking  him  a  long  journey 
in  a  small  space,"  said  Mademoiselle  des  Touches  one 
day. 

Before  the  excursion  to  Croisic,  the  two  women  were 


252  Beatrix, 

discoursing  one  evening  about  love,  and  laughing  at 
the  different  ways  that  men  adopted  to  declare  it; 
admitting  to  themselves  that  the  cleverest  men,  and 
naturally  the  least  loving,  did  not  like  to  wander  in  the 
labyrinths  of  sentimentality  and  went  straight  to  the 
point,  —  in  which  perhaps  they  were  right ;  for  the  re- 
sult was  that  those  who  loved  most  deeply  and  reserv- 
edly were,  for  a  time  at  least,  ill-treated. 

"  They  go  to  work  like  La  Fontaine,  when  he  wanted 
to  enter  the  Academy,"  said  Camille. 

Madame  de  Rochefide  had  unbounded  power  to  re- 
strain Calyste  within  the  limits  where  she  meant  to 
keep  him ;  it  sufficed  her  to  remind  him  by  a  look  or 
gesture  of  his  horrible  violence  on  the  rocks.  The 
eyes  of  her  poor  victim  would  fill  with  tears,  he  was 
silent,  swallowing  down  his  prayers,  his  arguments,  his 
sufferings  with  a  heroism  that  would  certainly  have 
touched  any  other  woman.  She  finally  brought  him  by 
her  infernal  coquetry  to  such  a  pass  that  he  went  one 
day  to  Camille  imploring  her  advice. 

Beatrix,  armed  with  Calyste' s  own  letter,  quoted 
the  passage  in  which  he  said  that  to  love  was  the  first 
happiness,  that  of  being  loved  came  later;  and  she 
used  that  axiom  to  restrain  his  passion  to  the  limits 
of  respectful  idolatry,  which  pleased  her  well.  She 
liked  to  feel  her  soul  caressed  by  those  sweet  hymns 
of  praise  and  adoration  which  nature  suggests  to 
youth ;  in  them  is  so  much  artless  art ;  such  innocent 
seduction  is  in  their  cries,  their  prayers,  their  excla- 
mations, their  pledges  of  themselves  in  the  promissory 
notes  which  they  offer  on  the  future;  to  all  of  which 
Beatrix  was  very  careful  to  give  no  definite  answer. 


Beatrix.  253 

Yes,  she  heard  him;  but  she  doubted!  Love  was 
not  yet  the  question;  what  he  asked  of  her  was 
permission  to  love.  In  fact,  that  was  all  that  the  poor 
lad  really  asked  for;  his  mind  still  clung  to  the 
strongest  side  of  love,  the  spiritual  side.  But  the 
woman  who  is  firmest  in  words  is  often  the  feeblest 
in  action.  It  is  strange  that  Calyste,  having  seen  the 
progress  his  suit  had  made  by  pushing  Beatrix  into 
•the  sea,  did  not  continue  to  urge  it  violently.  But 
love  in  young  men  is  so  ecstatic  and  religious  that 
their  inmost  desire  is  to  win  its  fruition  through  moral 
conviction.     In  that  is  the  sublimity  of  their  love. 

Nevertheless  the  day  came  when  the  Breton,  driven 
to  desperation,  complained  to  Camille  of  Beatrix's 
conduct. 

*'l  meant  to  cure  you  by  making  you  quickly  under- 
stand her,"  replied  Mademoiselle  des  Touches;  "but 
you  have  spoiled  all.  Ten  days  ago  you  were  her 
master ;  to-day,  my  poor  boy,  you  are  her  slave.  You 
will  never  have  the  strength  now  to  do  as  I  advise." 

"What  ought  I  to  do?" 

"Quarrel  with  her  on  the  ground  of  her  hardness. 
A  woman  is  always  over-excited  when  she  discusses; 
let  her  be  angry  and  ill-treat  you,  and  then  stay  away ; 
do  not  return  to  Les  Touches  till  she  herself  recalls 
you." 

In  all  extreme  illness  there  is  a  moment  when  the 
patient  is  willing  to  accept  the  cruellest  remedy  and 
submits  to  the  most  horrible  operation.  Calyste  had 
reached  that  point.  He  listened  to  Camille's  advice 
and  stayed  at  home  two  whole  days ;  but  on  the  third 
he  was  scratching  at  Beatrix's  door  to  let  her  know 
that  he  and  Camille  were  waiting  breakfast  for  her. 


254  Beatrix. 

"Another  chancie  lost!"  Camille  said  to  him  when 
she  saw  him  re-appear  so  weakly. 

During  his  two  days'  absence,  Beatrix  had  frequently 
looked  through  the  window  which  opens  on  the  road 
to  Guerande.  When  Camille  found  her  doing  so,  she 
talked  of  the  effect  produced  by  the  gorse  along  the 
roadway,  the  golden  blooms  of  which  were  dazzling  in 
the  September  sunshine. 

The  marquise  kept  Camille  and  Calyste  waiting  long 
for  breakfast ;  and  the  delay  would  have  been  signifi- 
cant to  any  eyes  but  those  of  Calyste,  for  when  she 
did  appear,  her  dress  showed  an  evident  intention  to 
fascinate  him  and  prevent  another  absence.  After 
breakfast  she  went  to  walk  with  him  in  the  garden  and 
filled  his  simple  heart  with  joy  by  expressing  a  wish 
to  go  again  to  that  rock  where  she  had  so  nearly 
perished. 

*'Will  you  go  with  me  alone?"  asked  Calyste,  in  a 
troubled  voice. 

''If  I  refused  to  do  so,"  she  replied,  "I  should 
give  you  reason  to  suppose  I  thought  you  dangerous. 
Alas !  as  I  have  told  you  again  and  again  I  belong  to 
another,  and  I  must  be  his  only ;  I  chose  him  knowing 
nothing  of  love.  The  fault  was  great,  and  bitter  is 
my  punishment." 

When  she  talked  thus,  her  eyes  moist  with  the 
scanty  tears  shed  by  that  class  of  women,  Calyste 
was  filled  with  a  compassion  that  reduced  his  fiery 
ardor;  he  adored  her  then  as  he  did  a  Madonna.  We 
have  no  more  right  to  require  different  characters  to 
be  alike  in  the  expression  of  feelings  than  we  have  to 
expect  the  same  fruits  from  different  trees.     Beatrix 


Beatrix.  255 

was  at  this  moment  undergoing  an  inward  stniggle; 
she  hesitated  between  herself  and  Calyste,  —  between 
the  world  she  still  hoped  to  re-enter,  and  the  young 
happiness  offered  to  her;  between  a  second  and  an 
unpardonable  love,  and  social  rehabilitation.  She 
began,  therefore,  to  listen,  without  even  acted  dis- 
pleasure, to  the  talk  of  the  youth's  blind  passion;  she 
allowed  his  soft  pity  to  soothe  her.  Several  times 
she  had  been  moved  to  tears  as  she  listened  to 
Calyste's  promises;  and  she  suffered  him  to  commis- 
erate her  for  being  bound  to  an  evil  genius,  a  man  as 
false  as  Conti.  More  than  once  she  related  to  him  the 
misery  and  anguish  she  had  gone  through  in  Italy, 
when  she  first  became  aware  that  she  was  not  alone 
in  Conti's  heart.  On  this  subject  Camille  had  fully 
informed  Calyste  and  given  him  several  lectures  on  it, 
by  which  he  profited. 

*'I,"  he  said,  "will  love  you  only,  you  absolutely. 
I  have  no  triumphs  of  art,  no  applause  of  crowds 
stirred  by  my  genius  to  offer  you ;  my  only  talent  is  to 
love  you;  my  honor,  my  pride  are  in  your  perfections. 
No  other  woman  can  have  merit  in  my  eyes ;  you  have 
no  odious  rivalry  to  fear.  You  are  misconceived  and 
wronged,  but  I  know  you,  and  for  every  misconcep- 
tion, for  every  wrong,  1  will  make  you  feel  my  com- 
prehension day  by  day." 

She  listened  to  such  speeches  with  bowed  head, 
allowing  him  to  kiss  her  hands,  and  admitting  silently 
but  gracefully  that  she  was  indeed  an  angel  misunder- 
stood. 

*'I  am  too  humiliated,"  she  would  say;  **my  past 
has  robbed  the  future  of  all  security." 


256  Beatrix. 

It  was  a  glorious  day  for  Calyste  when,  arriving  at 
Les  Touches  at  seven  in  the  morning,  he  saw  from  afar 
Beatrix  at  a  window  watching  for  him,  and  wearing 
the  same  straw  hat  she  had  worn  on  the  memorable 
day  of  their  first  excursion.  For  a  moment  he  was  daz- 
zled and  giddy.  These  little  things  of  passion  mag- 
nify the  world  itself.  It  may  be  that  only  French- 
women possess  the  art  of  such  scenic  effects;  they 
owe  it  to  the  grace  of  their  minds ;  they  know  how  to 
put  into  sentiment  as  much  of  the  picturesque  as  the 
particular  sentiment  can  bear  without  a  loss  of  vigor 
or  of  force. 

Ah !  how  lightly  she  rested  on  Calyste's  arm ! 
Together  they  left  Les  Touches  by  the  garden-gate 
which  opens  on  the  dunes.  Beatrix  thought  the  sands 
delightful ;  she  spied  the  hardy  little  plants  with  rose- 
colored  flowers  that  grew  there,  and  she  gathered  a 
quantity  to  mix  with  the  Chartreux  pansies  which  also 
grow  in  that  arid  desert,  dividing  them  significantly 
with  Calyste,  to  whom  those  flowers  and  their  foliage 
were  to  be  henceforth  an  eternal  and  dreadful  relic. 

"  We'll  add  a  bit  of  box,"  she  said  smiling. 

They  sat  some  time  together  on  the  jetty,  and  Calyste, 
while  waiting  for  the  boat  to  come  over,  told  her  of 
his  juvenile  act  on  the  day  of  her  arrival. 

"  I  knew  of  your  little  escapade,"  she  said,  '*  and 
it  was  the  cause  of  my  sternness  to  you  that  first 
night." 

During  their  walk  Madame  de  Rochefide  had  the 
lightly  jesting  tone  of  a  woman  who  loves,  together 
with  a  certain  tenderness  and  abandonment  of  manner. 
Calyste  had   reason   to   think   himself   beloved.     But 


Beatrix.  267 

when,  wandering  along  the  shore  beneath  the  rocks, 
they  came  upon  one  of  those  charming  creeks  where 
the  waves  deposit  the  most  extraordinary  mosaic  of 
brilliant  pebbles,  and  they  played  there  like  children 
gathering  the  prettiest,  when  Calyste  at  the  summit 
of  happiness  asked  her  plainly  to  fly  with  him  to 
Ireland,  she  resumed  her  dignified  and  distant  air, 
asked  for  his  arm,  and  continued  their  walk  in  silence 
to  what  she  called  her  Tarpeian  rock. 

"  My  friend,"  she  said,  mounting  with  slow  steps 
the  magnificent  block  of  granite  of  which  she  was  mak- 
ing for  herself  a  pedestal,  ''  I  have  not  the  courage  to 
conceal  what  you  are  to  me.  For  ten  years  I  have  had 
no  happiness  comparable  to  that  which  we  have  just 
enjoyed  together,  searching  for  shells  among  those 
rocks,  exchanging  pebbles  of  which  I  shall  make  a 
necklace  more  precious  far  to  me  than  if  it  were  made 
of  the  finest  diamonds.  I  have  been  once  more  a  little 
girl,  a  child,  such  as  I  was  at  fourteen  or  sixteen  — 
when  I  was  worthy  of  you.  The  love  that  I  have  had 
the  happiness  to  inspire  in  your  heart  has  raised  me  in 
my  own  eyes.  Understand  those  words  to  their 
magical  extent.  You  have  made  me  the  proudest  and 
happiest  of  my  sex,  and  you  will  live  longer  in  my 
remembrance,  perhaps,  than  I  in  yours." 

At  this  moment  they  reached  the  summit  of  the 
rock,  whence  they  saw  the  vast  ocean  on  one  side  and 
Brittany  on  the  other,  with  its  golden  isles,  its  feudal 
towers,  and  its  gorse.  Never  did  any  woman  stand  on 
a  finer  scene  to  make  a  great  avowal. 

**  But,"  she  continued,  **  I  do  not  belong  to  myself; 
I  am  more  bound  by  my  own  will  than   I  was  by  the 

17 


258  Beatrix. 

law.  You  must  be  punished  for  my  misdeed,  but  be 
satisfied  to  know  that  we  suffer  together.  Dante 
nev6r  saw  his  Beatrice  again  ;  Petrarch  never  possessed 
his  Laura.  Such  disasters  fall  on  none  but  noble 
souls.  But,  if  I  should  be  abandoned,  if  I  fall  lower 
yet  into  shame  and  ignominy,  if  your  Beatrix  is  cruelly 
misjudged  by  the  world  she  loathes,  if  indeed  she  is 
the  lowest  of  women,  —  then,  my  child,  my  adored 
child,"  she  said,  taking  his  hand,  ''  to  you  she  will 
still  be  first  of  all ;  you  will  know  that  she  rises  to 
heaven  as  she  leans  on  you;  but  then,  my  friend," 
she  added,  giving  him  an  intoxicating  look,  "  then  if 
you  wish  to  cast  her  down  do  not  fail  of  your  blow ; 
after  your  love,  death !  " 

Calyste  clasped  her  round  the  waist  and  pressed  her 
to  his  heart.  As  if  to  confirm  her  words  Madame  de 
Rochefide  laid  a  tender,  timid  kiss  upon  his  brow. 
Then  they  turned  and  walked  slowly  back ;  talking 
together  like  those  who  have  a  perfect  comprehension 
of  each  other,  —  she,  thinking  she  had  gained  a  truce, 
he  not  doubting  of  his  happiness ;  and  both  deceived. 
Calyste,  from  what  Camille  had  told  him,  was  confident 
that  Conti  would  be  enchanted  to  find  an  opportunity 
to  part  from  Beatrix;  Beatrix,  yielding  herself  up 
to  the  vagueness  of  her  position,  looked  to  chance  to 
arrange  the  future. 

They  reached  Les  Touches  in  the  most  delightful  of 
all  states  of  mind,  entering  by  the  garden  gate,  the  key 
of  which  Calyste  had  taken  with  him.  It  was  nearly 
six  o'clock.  The  luscious  odors,  the  warm  atmosphere, 
the  burnished  rays  of  the  evening  sun  were  all  in  har- 
mony with  their  feelings  and  their  tender  talk.     Their 


Beatrix.  259 

steps  were  taken  in  unison,  —  the  gait  of  all  lovers,  — 
their  movements  told  of  the  union  of  their  thoughts. 
The  silence  that  reigned  about  Les  Touches  was  so 
profound  that  the  noise  which  Calyste  made  in  opening 
and  shutting  the  gate  must  have  echoed  through  the 
garden.  As  the  two  had  said  all  to  each  other  that 
could  be  said,  and  as  their  day's  excursion,  so  filled 
with  emotion,  had  physically  tired  them,  they  walked 
slowly,  saying  nothing. 

Suddenly,  at  the  turn  of  a  path,  Beatrix  was  seized 
with  a  horrible  trembling,  with  that  contagious  horror 
which  is  caused  by  the  sight  of  a  snake,  and  which 
Calyste  felt  before  he  saw  the  cause  of  it.  On  a  bench, 
beneath  the  branches  of  a  weeping  ash,  sat  Conti, 
talking  with  Camille  Maupin. 


260  Beatrix. 


XV. 

CONTI. 

The  inward  and  convulsive  trembling  of  the  mar- 
quise was  more  apparent  than  she  wished  it  to  be ;  a 
tragic  drama  developed  at  that  moment  in  the  souls  of 
all  present. 

"  You  did  not  expect  me  so  soon,  I  fancy,"  said 
Conti,  offering  his  arm  to  Beatrix. 

The  marquise  could  not  avoid  dropping  Calyste's 
arm  and  taking  that  of  Conti.  This  ignoble  transit, 
imperiously  demanded,  so  dishonoring  to  the  new  love, 
overwhelmed  Calyste  who  threw  himself  on  the  bench 
beside  Camille,  after  exchanging  the  coldest  of  saluta- 
tions with  his  rival.  He  was  torn  by  conflicting 
emotions.  Strong  in  the  thought  that  Beatrix  loved 
him,  he  wanted  at  first  to  fling  himself  upon  Conti  and 
tell  him  that  Beatrix  was  his ;  but  the  violent  trembling 
of  the  woman  betraying  how  she  suffered  —  for  she  had 
really  paid  the  penalty  of  her  faults  in  that  one 
moment — affected  him  so  deeply  that  he  was  dumb, 
struck  like  her  with  a  sense  of  some  implacable 
necessity. 

Madame  de  Rochefide  and  Conti  passed  in  front  of 
the  seat  where  Calyste  had  dropped  beside  Camille, 
and  as  she  passed,  the  marquise  looked  at  Camille, 
giving   her  one   of   those  terrible   glances   in  which 


Beatrix.  261 

women  have  the  art  of  saying  all  things.  She  avoided 
the  eyes  of  Calyste  and  turned  her  attention  to  Conti, 
who  appeared  to  be  jesting  with  her. 

**What  will  they  say  to  each  other?"  Calyste  asked 
of  Camille. 

''Dear  child,  you  don't  know  as  yet  the  terrible 
rights  which  an  extinguished  love  still  gives  to  a 
man  over  a  woman.  Beatrix  could  not  refuse  to  take 
his  arm.  He  is,  no  doubt,  joking  her  about  her  new 
love ;  he  must  have  guessed  it  from  your  attitudes  and 
the  manner  in  which  you  approached  us." 

'* Joking  her!  "  cried  the  impetuous  youth,  starting 
up. 

"Be  calm,"  said  Camille,  "or  you  will  lose  the  last 
chances  that  remain  to  you.  If  he  wounds  her  self- 
love,  she  will  crush  him  like  a  worm  under  her  foot. 
But  he  is  too  astute  for  that;  he  will  manage  her  with 
greater  cleverness.  He  will  seem  not  even  to  sup- 
pose that  the  proud  Madame  de  Rochefide  could  betray 
him ;  she  could  never  be  guilty  of  such  depravity  as 
loving  a  man  for  the  sake  of  his  beauty.  He  will 
represent  you  to  her  as  a  child  ambitious  to  have  a 
marquise  in  love  with  him,  and  to  make  himself  the 
arbiter  of  the  fate  of  two  women.  In  short,  he  will 
lire  a  broadside  of  malicious  insinuations.  Beatrix 
will  then  be  forced  to  parry  with  false  assertions 
and  denials,  which  he  will  simply  make  use  of  to 
become  once  more  her  master." 

"Ah!"  cried  Calyste,  "he  does  not  love  her.  I 
would  leave  her  free.  True  love  means  a  choice  made 
anew  at  every  moment,  confirmed  from  day  to  day. 
The  morrow  justifies  the  past,  and  swells  the  treasury 


262  Beatrix, 

of  our  pleasures.  Ah!  why  did  he  not  stay  awiy  a 
little  longer?  A  few  days  more  and  he  would  not 
have  found  her.     What  brought  him  back  ?  " 

''The  jest  of  a  journalist,"  replied  Camille.  "His 
opera,  on  the  success  of  which  he  counted,  has  fallen 
flat.  Some  journalist,  probably  Claude  Vignon,  re- 
marked in  the  foyer:  'It  is  hard  to  lose  fame  and 
mistress  at  the  same  moment, '  and  the  speech  cut  him 
in  all  his  vanities.  Love  based  on  petty  sentiments 
is  always  pitiless.  I  have  questioned  him ;  but  who 
can  fathom  a  nature  so  false  and  so  deceiving?  He 
appeared  to  be  weary  of  his  troubles  and  his  love, — 
in  short,  disgusted  with  life.  He  regrets  having  allied 
himself  so  publicly  with  the  marquise,  and  made  me, 
in  speaking  of  his  past  happiness,  a  melancholy  poem, 
which  was  somewhat  too  clever  to  be  true.  I  think  he 
hoped  to  worm  out  of  me  the  secret  of  your  love,  in  the 
midst  of  the  joy  he  expected  his  flatteries  to  cause 
me." 

"What  else?"  said  Calyste,  watching  Beatrix  and 
Conti,  who  were  now  coming  towards  them;  but  he 
listened  no  longer  to  Camille' s  words. 

In  talking  with  Conti,  Camille  had  held  herself  pru- 
dently on  the  defensive;  she  had  betrayed  neither 
Calyste' s  secret  nor  that  of  Beatrix.  The  great  artist 
was  capable  of  treachery  to  every  one,  and  Mademoi- 
selle des  Touches  warned  Calyste  to  distrust  him. 

"My  dear  friend,"  she  said,  "this  is  by  far  the  most 
critical  moment  for  you.  You  need  caution  and  a  sort 
of  cleverness  you  do  not  possess ;  I  am  afraid  you  will 
let  yourself  be  tricked  by  the  most  wily  man  I  have 
ever  known,  and  I  can  do  nothing  to  help  you." 


Beatrix.  263 

The  bell  announced  dinner.  Conti  offered  his  arm 
to  Camille;  Calyste  gave  his  to  Beatrix.  Camille 
drew  back  to  let  the  marquise  pass,  but  the  latter  had 
found  a  moment  in  which  to  look  at  Calyste,  and  im- 
press upon  him,  by  putting  her  finger  on  her  lips,  the 
absolute  necessity  of  discretion. 
k  Conti  was  extremely  gay  during  the  dinner;  per- 
haps this  was  only  one  way  of  probing  Madame  de 
Rochefide,  who  played  her  part  extremely  ill.  If  her 
conduct  had  been  mere  coquetry,  she  might  have 
deceived  even  Conti;  but  her  new  love  was  real,  and 
it  betrayed  her.  The  wily  musician,  far  from  adding 
to  her  embarrassment,  pretended  not  to  have  per- 
ceived it.  At  dessert,  he  brought  the  conversation 
round  to  women,  and  lauded  the  nobility  of  their 
sentiments.  Many  a  woman,  he  said,  who  might 
have  been  willing  to  abandon  a  man  in  prosperity, 
would  sacrifice  all  to  him  in  misfortune.  Women  had 
the  advantage  over  men  in  constancy;  nothing  ever 
detached  them  from  their  first  lover,  to  whom  they 
clung  as  a  matter  of  honor,  unless  he  wounded  them; 
they  felt  that  a  second  love  was  unworthy  of  them, 
and  so  forth.  His  ethics  were  of  the  highest  order; 
shedding  incense  on  the  altar  where  he  knew  that  one 
heart  at  least,  pierced  by  many  a  blow,  was  bleeding. 
Camille  and  Beatrix  alone  understood  the  bitterness 
of  the  sarcasms  shot  forth  in  the  guise  of  eulogy. 
At  times  they  both  flushed  scarlet,  but  they  w^ere 
forced  to  control  themselves.  When  dinner  was  over, 
they  took  each  other  by  the  arm  to  return  to  Camille's 
salon,  and,  as  if  by  mutual  consent,  they  turned  aside 
into  the  great  salon,  where  they  could  be  alone  for  an 
instant  in  the  darkness. 


264  Beatrix. 

"It  i8  dreadful  to  let  Conti  ride  over  me  rough- 
shod; and  yet  I  can't  defend  myself,"  said  Beatrix, 
in  a  low  voice.  "The  galley-slave  is  always  a  slave 
to  his  chain-companion.  I  am  lost;  I  must  needs 
return  to  my  galleys!  And  it  is  you,  Camille,  who 
have  cast  me  there!  Ah!  you  brought  him  back  a 
day  too  soon,  or  a  day  too  late.  I  recognize  your 
infernal  talent  as  author.  Well,  your  revenge  is 
complete,  the  finale  perfect !  " 

"I  may  have  told  you  that  I  would  write  to  Conti, 
but  to  do  it  was  another  matter,"  cried  Camille.  "I 
am  incapable  of  such  baseness.  But  you  are  un- 
happy, and  I  forgive  the  suspicion." 

"What  will  become  of  Calyste?  "  said  the  marquise, 
with  naive  self-conceit. 

"Then  Conti  carries  you  off,  does  he?"  asked 
Camille. 

"Ah!  you  think  you  triumph!  "  cried  Beatrix. 

Anger  distorted  her  handsome  face  as  she  said  those 
bitter  words  to  Camille,  who  was  trying  to  hide  her 
satisfaction  under  a  false  expression  of  sympathy. 
Unfortunately,  the  sparkle  in  her  eyes  belied  the  sad- 
ness of  her  face,  and  Beatrix  was  learned  in  such 
deceptions.  When,  a  few  moments  later,  the  two 
women  were  seated  under  a  strong  light  on  that  divan- 
where  for  the  last  three  weeks  so  many  comedies  had 
been  played,  and  where  the  secret  tragedy  of  many 
thwarted  passions  had  begun,  they  examined  each 
other  for  the  last  time,  and  felt  they  were  forever 
parted  by  an  undying  hatred. 

"Calyste  remains  to  you,"  said  Beatrix,  looking 
into  Camille's  eyes;  "but  I  am  fixed  in  his  heart,  and 
no  woman  can  ever  drive  me  out  of  it." 


Beatrix.  265 

B  Camille  replied,  with  an  inimitable  tone  of  irony 
that  struck  the  marquise  to  the  heart,  in  the  famous 
words  of  Mazarin's  niece  to  Louis  XIV.,  — 

"You  reign,  you  love,  and  you  depart!  " 

Neither  Camille  nor  Beatrix  was  conscious  during 
this  sharp  and  bitter  scene  of  the  absence  of  Conti 
and  Calyste.  The  composer  had  remained  at  table 
with  his  rival,  begging  him  to  keep  him  company  in 
finishing  a  bottle  of  champagne. 

"  We  have  something  to  say  to  each  other, "  added 
Conti,  to  prevent  all  refusal  on  the  part  of  Calyste. 

Placed  as  they  both  were,  it  was  impossible  for  the 
young  Breton  to  refuse  this  challenge. 

"My  dear  friend,"  said  the  composer,  in  his  most 
caressing  voice,  as  soon  as  the  poor  lad  had  drunk  a 
couple  of  glasses  of  champagne,  *'we  are  both  good 
fellows,  and  we  can  speak  to  each  other  frankly.  I 
have  not  come  here  suspiciously.  Beatrix  loves  me," 
—  this  with  a  gesture  of  the  utmost  self-conceit  — 
*'but  the  truth  is,  I  have  ceased  to  love  her.  I  am 
not  here  to  carry  her  away  with  me,  but  to  break  off 
our  relations,  and  to  leave  her  the  honors  of  the  rup- 
ture. You  are  young;  you  don't  yet  know  how  use- 
ful it  is  to  appear  to  be  the  victim  when  you  are  really 
.  the  executioner.  Young  men  spit  fire  and  flame ;  they 
leave  a  woman  with  noise  and  fury;  they  often  de- 
spise her,  and  they  make  her  hate  them.  But  wise 
men  do  as  I  am  doing;  they  get  themselve.s  dismissed, 
assuming  a  mortified  air,  which  leav^  regret  in  the 
woman's  heart  and  also  a  sense  of  her  superiority. 
You  don't  yet  know,  luckily  for^^you,  how  hampered 
men  often  are  in  their  careerMby  the  rash  promises 


266  Beatrix. 

which  women  are  silly  enough  to  accept  when  gallantry 
obliges  us  to  make  nooses  to  catch  our  happiness. 
We  swear  eternal  faithfulness,  and  declare  that  we 
desire  to  pass  our  lives  with  them,  and  seem  to  await 
a  husband's  death  .  impatiently.  Let  him  die,  and 
there  are  some  provincial  women  obtuse  or  silly  or 
malicious  enough  to  say:  'Here  am  I,  free  at  last.' 
The  spent  ball  suddenly  comes  to  life  again,  and 
falls  plumb  in  the  midst  of  our  finest  triumphs  or  our 
most  carefully  planned  happiness.  I  have  seen  that 
you  love  Beatrix.  I  leave  her  therefore  in  a  position 
where  she  loses  nothing  of  her  precious  majesty;  she 
will  certainly  coquet  with  you,  if  only  to  tease  and 
annoy  that  angel  of  a  Camille  Maupin.  Well,  my 
dear  fellow,  take  her,  love  her,  you  '11  do  me  a  great 
service ;  I  want  her  to  turn  against  me.  I  have  been 
afraid  of  her  pride  and  her  virtue.  Perhaps,  in  spite 
of  my  approval  of  the  matter,  it  may  take  some  time 
to  effect  this  chassez-croissez.  On  such  occasions 
the  wisest  plan  is  to  take  no  step  at  all.  I  did,  just 
now,  as  we  walked  about  the  lawn,  attempt  to  let  her 
see  that  I  knew  all,  and  was  ready  to  congratulate 
her  on  her  new  happiness.  Well,  she  was  furious! 
At  this  moment  I  am  desperately  in  love  with  the 
youngest  and  handsomest  of  our  prima-donnas,  . 
Mademoiselle  Falcon  of  the  Grand  Opera.  I  think  of 
marrying  her ;  yes,  I  have  got  as  far  as  that.  When 
you  come  to  Paris  you  will  see  that  I  have  changed  a 
marquise  for  a  queen." 

Calyste,  whose  candid  face  revealed  his  satisfac- 
tion, admitted  his  love  for  Beatrix,  which  was  all  that 
Conti  wanted  to  discover.     There  is  no  man 'in  the 


Beatrix,  267 

world,  however  blase  or  depraved  he  may  be,  whose 
love  will  not  flame  up  again  the  moment  he  sees  it 
threatened  by  a  rival.  He  may  wish  to  leave  a 
woman,  but  he  will  never  willingly  let  her  leave  him. 
When  a  pair  of  lovers  get  to  this  extremity,  both  the 
man  and  the  woman  strive  for  priority  of  action,  so 
deep  is  the  wound  to  their  vanity.  Questioned  by 
the  composer,  Calyste  related  all  that  had  happened 
during  the  last  three  weeks  at  Les  Touches,  delighted 
to  find  that  Conti,  who  concealed  his  fury  under  an 
appearance  of  charming  good-humor,  took  it  all  in 
good  part. 

*'Come,  let  us  go  upstairs,"  said  the  latter. 
"Women  are  so  distrustful;  those  two  will  wonder 
how  we  can  sit  here  together  without  tearing  each 
other's  hair  out;  they  are  even  capable  of  coming 
down  to  listen.  I  '11  serve  you  faithfully,  my  dear 
boy.  You  '11  see  me  rough  and  jealous  with  the 
marquise;  I  shall  seem  to  suspect  her;  there's  no 
better  way  to  drive  a  woman  to  betray  you.  You 
will  be  happy,  and  I  shall  be  free.  Seem  to  pity  that 
angel  for  belonging  to  a  man  without  delicacy ;  show 
her  a  tear  —  for  you  can  weep,  you  are  still  young. 
I,  alas!  can  weep  no  more;  and  that's  a  great  advan- 
tage lost." 

Calyste  and  Conti  went  up  to  Camille's  salon.  The 
composer,  begged  by  his  young  rival  to  sing,  gave 
them  that  greatest  of  musical  masterpieces  viewed  as 
execution,  the  famous  ''^Fria  che  spunti  V aurora^" 
which  Rubiui  himself  never  attempted  without  trem- 
bling, and  which  had  often  been  Conti's  triumph. 
Never  was  his  singing   more  extraordinary  than   on 


268  BSatrix. 

this  occasion,  when  so  many  feelings  were  contending 
in  his  breast.  Calyste  was  in  ecstasy.  As  Conti 
sang  the  first  words  of  the  cavatina,  he  looked  intently 
at  the  marquise,  giving  to  those  words  a  cruel  signifi- 
cation which  was  fully  understood.  Camille,  who 
accompanied  him,  guessed  the  order  thus  conveyed, 
which  bowed  the  head  of  the  luckless  Beatrix.  She 
looked  at  Calyste,  and  felt  sure  that  the  youth  had 
fallen  into  some  trap  in  spite  of  her  advice.  This 
conviction  became  certainty  when  the  evidently  happy 
Breton  came  up  to  bid  Beatrix  good-night,  kissing 
her  hand,  and  pressing  it  with  a  little  air  of  happy 
confidence. 

By  the  time  Calyste  had  reached  Guerande,  the  ser- 
vants were  packing  Conti' s  travelling-carriage,  and 
"by  dawn,"  as  the  song  had  said,  the  composer  was 
carrying  Beatrix  away  with  Camille 's  horses  to  the 
first  relay.  The  morning  twilight  enabled  Madame 
de  Rochefide  to  see  Guerande,  its  towers,  whitened 
by  the  dawn,  shining  out  upon  the  still  dark  sky. 
Melancholy  thoughts  possessed  her;  she  was  leaving 
there  one  of  the  sweetest  flowers  of  all  her  life,  —  a 
pure  love,  such  as  a  young  girl  dreams  of;  the  only 
true  love  she  had  ever  known  or  was  ever  to  conceive 
of.  The  woman  of  the  world  obeyed  the  laws  of  the 
world;  she  sacrificed  love  to  their  demands  just  as 
many  women  sacrifice  it  to  religion  or  to  duty.  Some- 
times mere  pride  can  rise  in  acts  as  high  as  virtue. 
Read  thus,  this  history  is  that  of  many  women. 

The  next  morning  Calyste  went  to  Les  Touches 
about  mid-day.  When  he  reached  the  spot  from 
which,  the  day  before,  he  had  seen  Beatrix  watching 


Beatrix.  269 

for  him  at  the  window  he  saw  Camille,  who  instantly 
ran  down  to  him.  She  met  him  at  the  foot  of  the 
staircase  and  told  the  cruel  truth  in  one  word,  — 

^'Gone!" 

''Beatrix?"  asked  Calyste,  thunderstruck. 

"You  have  been  duped  by  Conti;  you  told  me 
nothing,  and  I  could  do  nothing  for  you." 

She  led  the  poor  fellow  to  her  little  salon,  where  he 
flung  himself  on  the  divan  where  he  had  so  often  seen 
the  marquise,  and  burst  into  tears.  Felicitd  smoked 
her  hookah  and  said  nothing,  knowing  well  that  no 
words  or  thoughts  are  capable  of  arresting  the  first 
anguish  of  such  pain,  which  is  always  deaf  and  dumb. 
Calyste,  unable  even  to  think,  much  less  to  choose  a 
course,  sat  there  all  day  in  a  state  of  complete  tor- 
pidity. Just  before  dinner  was  served,  Camille  tried 
to  say  a  few  words,  after  begging  him,  very  earnestly, 
to  listen  to  her. 

"Friend,"  she  said,  "you  caused  me  the  bitterest 
suffering,  and  I  had  not,  like  you,  a  beautiful  young 
life  before  me  in  which  to  heal  myself.  For  me,  life 
has  no  longer  any  spring,  nor  my  soul  a  love.  So,  to 
find  consolation,  I  have  had  to  look  above.  Here,  in 
this  room,  the  day  before  Beatrix  came  here,  I  drew 
you  her  portrait;  I  did  not  do  her  injustice,  or  you 
might  have  thought  me  jealous.  T  wanted  you  to  know 
her  as  she  is,  for  that  would  have  kept  you  safe. 
Listen  now  to  the  full  truth.  Madame  de  Rochefide 
is  wholly  unworthy  of  you.  The  scandal  of  her  fall 
was  not  necessary;  she  did  the  thing  deliberately  in 
order  to  play  a  part  in  the  eyes  of  society.  She  is 
one  of  those  women   who  prefer  the  celebrity  of  a 


270  Beatrix. 

scandal  to  tranquil  happiness ;  they  fly  in  the  face  of 
society  to  obtain  the  fatal  alms  of  a  rebuke;  they 
desire  to  be  talked  about  at  any  cost.  Beatrix  was 
eaten  up  with  vanity.  Her  fortune  and  her  wit  had 
not  given  her  the  feminine  royalty  that  she  craved; 
they  had  not  enabled  her  to  reign  supreme  over  a 
salon.  She  then  bethought  herself  of  seeking  the 
celebrity  of  the  Duchesse  de  Langeais  and  the  Vicom- 
tesse  de  Beauseant.  But  the  world,  after  all,  is  just; 
it  gives  the  homage  of  its  interest  to  real  feelings 
only.  Beatrix  playing  comedy  was  judged  to  be 
a  second-rate  actress.  There  was  no  reason  whatever 
for  her  flight;  the  sword  of  Damocles  was  not  sus- 
pended over  her  head;  she  is  neither  sincere,  nor 
loving,  nor  tender;  if  she  were,  would  she  have  gone 
away  with  Conti  this  morning?  " 

Camille  talked  long  and  eloquently;  but  this  last 
effort  to  open  Calyste's  eyes  was  useless,  and  she  said 
no  more  when  he  expressed  to  her  by  a  gesture  his 
absolute  belief  in  Beatrix. 

She  forced  him  to  come  down  into  the  dining-room 
and  sit  there  while  she  dined ;  though  he  himself  was 
unable  to  swallow  food.  It  is  only  during  extreme 
youth  that  these  contractions  of  the  bodily  functions 
occur.  Later,  the  organs  have  acquired,  as  it  were, 
fixed  habits,  and  are  hardened.  The  reaction  of  the 
mental  and  moral  system  upon  the  physical  is  not 
enough  to  produce  a  mortal  illness  unless  the  physical 
system  retains  its  primitive  purity.  A  man  resists  the 
violent  grief  that  kills  a  youth,  less  by  the  greater 
weakness  of  his  affections  than  by  the  greater  strength 
of  his  organs. 


Beatrix.  271 

Therefore  Mademoiselle  des  Touches  was  greatly 
alarmed  by  the  calm,  resigned  attitude  which  Calyste 
took  after  his  first  burst  of  tears  had  subsided.  Before 
he  left  her,  he  asked  permission  to  go  into  Beatrix's 
bedroom,  where  he  had  seen  her  on  the  night  of  her 
illness,  and  there  he  laid  his  head  on  the  pillow  where 
hers  had  lain. 

"I  am  committing  follies,"  he.  said,  grasping 
Camille's  hand,  and  bidding  her  good-night  in  deep 
dejection. 

He  returned  home,  found  the  usual  company  at 
mouche^  and  passed  the  remainder  of  the  evening  sit- 
ting beside  his  mother.  The  rector,  the  Chevalier  du 
Halga,  and  Mademoiselle  de  Pen-Hoel  all  knew  of 
Madame  de  Roche  fide*  s  departure,  and  were  rejoicing 
in  it.  Calyste  would  now  return  to  them;  and  all 
three  watched  him  cautiously,  observing  his  taci- 
turnity. No  one  in  that  old  manor-house  was  capable 
of  imagining  the  result  of  a  first  love,  the  love  of 
youth  in  a  heart  so  simple  and  so  true  as  that  of 
Calyste. 


272  Beatrix, 


XVI. 

SICKNESS   UNTO    DEATH. 

For  several  days  Calyste  went  regularly  to  Les 
Touches.  He  paced  round  and  round  the  lawn,  where 
he  had  sometimes  walked  with  Beatrix  on  his  arm. 
He  often  went  to  Croisic  to  stand  upon  that  fateful 
rock,  or  lie  for  hours  in  the  bush  of  box;  for,  by 
studying  the  footholds  on  the  sides  of  the  fissure,  he 
had  found  a  means  of  getting  up  and  down. 

These  solitary  trips,  his  silence,  his  gravity,  made 
his  mother  very  anxious.  After  about  two  weeks, 
during  which  time  this  conduct,  like  that  of  a  caged 
animal,  lasted,  this  poor  lover,  caged  in  his  despair, 
ceased  to  cross  the  bay;  he  had  scarcely  strength 
enough  to  drag  himself  along  the  road  from  Guerande 
to  the  spot  where  he  had  seen  Beatrix  watching  from 
her  window.  The  family,  delighted  at  the  departure 
of  ''those  Parisians,"  to  use  a  term  of  the  provinces, 
saw  nothing  fatal  or  diseased  about  the  lad.  The  two 
old  maids  and  the  rector,  pursuing  their  scheme,  had 
kept  Charlotte  de  Kergarouet,  who  nightly  played  off 
her  little  coquetries  on  Calyste,  obtaining  in  return 
nothing  better  than  advice  in  playing  mouche.  During 
these  long  evenings,  Calyste  sat  between  his  mother 
and  the  little  Breton  girl,  observed  by  the  rector  and 
Charlotte's  aunt,  who  discussed  his   greater  or  less 


Beatrix,  273 

depression  as  they  walked  home  together.  Their 
simple  minds  mistook  the  lethargic  indifference  of  the 
hapless  youth  for  submission  to  their  plans.  One 
I'vening  when  Calyste,  wearied  out,  went  off  suddenly 
to  bed,  the  players  dropped  their  cards  upon  the 
table  and  looked  at  each  other  as  the  young  man 
closed  the  door  of  his  chamber.  One  and  all  had 
listened  to  the  sound  of  his  receding  steps  with 
anxiety. 

"Something  is  the  matter  with  Calyste,"  said  the 
baroness,  wiping  her  eyes. 

'* Nothing  is  the  matter,"  replied  Mademoiselle  de 
Pen-Hoel;  *'but  you  should  marry  him  at  once." 

*'Do  you  believe  that  marriage  would  divert  his 
mind  ?  "  asked  the  chevalier. 

Charlotte  looked  reprovingly  at  Monsieur  du  Halga, 
whom  she  now  began  to  think  ill-mannered,  depraved, 
immoral,  without  religion,  and  very  ridiculous  about 
his  dog,  —  opinions  which  her  aunt,  defending  the  old 
sailor,  combated. 

''I  shall  lecture  Calyste  to-morrow  morning,"  said 
the  baron,  whom  the  others  had  thought  asleep.  ''I  do 
not  wish  to  go  out  of  this  world  without  seeing  my 
grandson,  a  little  pink  and  white  Guenic  with  a  Breton 
cap  on  his  head." 

'^Calyste  doesn't  say  a  word,"  said  old  Zephirine, 
''and  there's  no  making  out  what's  the  matter  with 
him.  He  doesn't  eat;  I  don't  see  what  he  lives  on. 
If  he  gets  his  meals  at  Les  Touches,  the  devil's 
kitchen  doesn't  nourish  him." 

**IIe  is  in  love,"  said  the  chevalier,  risking  that 
opinion  very  timidly. 

18 


274  Beatrix. 

"Come,  come,  old  gray-beard,  you  Ve  forgotten  to 
put  in  your  stake !  "  cried  Mademoiselle  de  Pen-Hoel. 
''When  you  begin  to  think  of  your  young  days  you 
forget  everything." 

''Come  to  breakfast  to-morrow,"  said  old  Zephirine 
to  her  friend  Jacqueline;  "my  brother  will  have  had 
a  talk  with  hie  son,  and  we  can  settle  the  matter 
finally,    fine  iiail,  you  know,  drives  out  another." 

"Not  among  Bretons,"  said  the  chevalier. 

The  next  day  Calyste  saw  Charlotte,  as  she  arrived 
dressed  with  unusual  care,  just  after  the  baron  had 
given  him,  in  the  dining-room,  a  discourse  on  matri- 
mony, to  which  he  could  make  no  answer.  He  now 
knew  the  ignorance  of  his  father  and  mother  and  all 
their  friends ;  he  had  gathered  the  fruits  of  the  tree  of 
knowledge,  and  knew  himself  to  be  as  much  isolated 
as  if  he  did  not  speak  the  family  language.  He  merely 
requested  his  father  to  give  him  a  few  days*  grace. 
The  old  baron  rubbed  his  hands  with  joy,  and  gave 
fresh  life  to  the  baroness  by  whispering  in  her  ear 
what  he  called  the  good  news. 

Breakfast  was  gay;  Charlotte,  to  whom  the  baron 
had  given  a  hint,  was  sparkling.  After  the  meal  was 
over,  Calyste  went  cut  upon  the  portico  leading  to  the 
garden,  followed  by  Charlotte;  he  gave  her  his  arm 
and  led  her  to  the  grotto.  Their  parents  and  friends 
were  at  the  window,  looking  at  them  with  a  species 
of  tenderness.  Presently  Charlotte,  uneasy  at  her 
suitor's  silence,  looked  back  and  saw  them,  which 
gave  her  an  opportunity  of  beginning  the  conversation 
by  saying  to  Calyste,  — 

"They  are  watching  us." 


Beatrix,  275 

"They  cannot  hear  us,"  he  replied. 

"True;  but  they  see  us." 

"Let  us  sit  down,  Charlotte,"  replied  Calyste,  gently 
taking  her  hand. 

"Is  it  true  that  your  banner  used  formerly  to  float 
from  that  twisted  column?"  asked  Charlotte,  with  a 
sense  that  the  house  was  already  hers ;  how  comfort- 
able she  should  be  there!  what  a  happy  sort  of  life! 
"You  will  make  some  changes  inside  the  house, 
won't  you,  Calyste?"  she  said. 

"I  shall  not  have  time,  my  dear  Charlotte,"  said 
the  young  man,  taking  her  hands  and  kissing  them. 
"I  am  going  now  to  tell  you  my  secret.  I  love  too 
well  a  person  whom  you  have  seen,  and  who  loves 
me,  to  be  able  to  make  the  happiness  of  any  other 
woman;  though  I  know  that  from  our  childhood  you 
and  I  have  been  destined  for  each  other  by  our 
friends." 

"But  she  is  married,  Calyste." 

"I  shall  wait,"  replied  the  young  man. 

"And  I,  too,"  said  Charlotte,  her  eyes  filling  with 
tears.  "You  cannot  long  love  a  woman  like  that, 
who,  they  say,  has  gone  off  with  a  singer  —  " 

"Marry,  my  dear  Charlotte,"  said  Calyste,  interrup- 
ting her.  "With  the  fortune  your  aunt  intends  to 
give  you,  which  is  enormous  for  Brittany,  you  can 
choose  some  better  man  than  I.  You  could  marry  a 
titled  man.  I  have  brought  you  here,  not  to  tell  you 
what  you  already  knew,  but  to  entreat  you,  in  the 
name  of  our  childish  friendship,  to  take  this  rupture 
upon  yourself,  and  say  that  you  have  rejected  me. 
Say  that  you  do  not  wish  to  marry  a  man  whose  heart 


276  Beatrix. 

is  not  free;  and  thus  I  shall  be  spared  at  least  the 
sense  that  I  have  done  you  public  wrong.  You  do 
not  know,  Charlotte,  how  heavy  a  burden  life  now  is 
to  me.  I  cannot  bear  the  slightest  struggle;  I  am 
weakened  like  a  man  whose  vital  spark  is  gone,  whose 
soul  has  left  him.  If  it  were  not  for  the  grief  I  should 
cause  my  mother,  I  would  have  flung  myself  before 
now  into  the  sea;  I  have  not  returned  to  the  rocks  at 
Croisic  since  the  day  that  temptation  became  almost 
irresistible.  Do  not  speak  of  this  to  any  one.  Good- 
bye, Charlotte." 

He  took  the  young  girl's  head  and  kissed  her  hair; 
then  he  left  the  garden  by  the  postern-gate  and  fled  to 
Les  Touches,  where  he  stayed  near  Camille  till  past 
midnight.  On  returning  home,  at  one  in  the  morning, 
he  found  his  mother  awaiting  him  with  her  worsted- 
work.  He  entered  softly,  clasped  her  hand  in  his,  and 
said,  — 

"Is  Charlotte  gone?" 

"She  goes  to-morrow,  with  her  aunt,  in  despair, 
both  of  them,"  answered  the  baroness.  "Come  to 
Ireland  with  me,  my  Calyste." 

"Many  a  time  I  have  thought  of  flying  there  —  " 

"Ah!  "  cried  the  baroness. 

"With  Beatrix,"  he  added. 

Some  days  after  Charlotte's  departure,  Calyste  joined 
the  Chevalier  du  Halga  in  his  daily  promenade  on  the 
mall  with  his  little  dog.  They  sat  down  in  the  sun- 
shine on  a  bench,  where  the  young  man's  eyes  could 
wander  from  the  vanes  of  Les  Touches  to  the  rocks  of 
Croisic,  against  which  the  waves  were  playing  and 
dashing   their    white   foam.      Calyste   was   thin   and 


Beatrix,  277 

pale;  his  strength  was  diminishing,  and  he  was  con- 
scious at  times  of  little  shudders  at  regular  intervals, 
denoting  fever.  His  eyes,  surrounded  by  dark  circles, 
had  that  singular  brilliancy  which  a  fixed  idea  gives 
to  the  eyes  of  hermits  and  solitary  souls,  or  the  ardor 
of  contest  to  those  of  the  strong  fighters  of  our  present 
civilization.  The  chevalier  was  the  only  person  with 
whom  he  could  exchange  a  few  ideas.  He  had  divined 
in  that  old  man  an  apostle  of  his  own  religion;  he 
recognized  in  his  soul  the  vestiges  of  an  eternal  love. 

*'Have  you  loved  many  women  in  your  life?"  he 
asked  him  on  the  second  occasion,  when,  as  seamen 
say,  they  sailed  in  company  along  the  mall. 

"Only  one,"  replied  Du  Halga. 

"Was  she  free?" 

"No,"  exclaimed  the  chevalier.  "Ah!  how  I  suf- 
fered !  She  was  the  wife  of  my  best  friend,  my  pro- 
tector, my  chief  —  but  we  loved  each  other  so !  " 

"Did  she  love  you?"  said  Calyste. 

"Passionately,"  replied  the  chevalier,  with  a  fer- 
vency not  usual  with  him. 

"You  were  happy?" 

"Until  her  death;  she  died  at  the  age  of  forty- 
nine,  during  the  emigration,  at  St.  Petersburg,  the 
climate  of  which  killed  her.  She  must  be  very  cold 
in  her  coffin.  I  have  often  thought  of  going  there  to 
fetch  her,  and  lay  her  in  our  dear  Brittany,  near  to 
me!     But  she  lies  in  my  heart." 

The  chevalier  brushed  away  his  tears.  Calyste 
took  his  hand  and  pressed  it. 

"I  care  for  this  little  dog  more  than  for  life  itself," 
said  the  old  man,  pointing  to  Thisbe.      "The  little 


278  Beatrix. 

darling  is  precisely  like  the  one  she  held  on  her 
knees  and  stroked  with  her  beautiful  hands.  I 
never  look  at  Thisbe  but  what  I  see  the  hands  of 
Madame  TAmirale." 

"Did  you  see  Madame  de  Rochefide?"  asked 
Calyste. 

"No,"  replied  the  chevalier.  "It  is  sixty-eight 
years  since  I  have  looked  at  any  woman  with  attention 
—  except  your  mother,  who  has  something  of  Madame 
TAmirale's  complexion." 

Three  days  later,  the  chevalier  said  to  Calyste,  on 
the  mall,  — 

"My  child,  I  have  a  hundred  and  forty  louis  laid 
by.  When  you  know  where  Madame  de  Rochefide  is, 
come  and  get  them  and  follow  her." 

Calyste  thanked  the  old  man,  whose  existence  he 
envied.  But  now,  from  day  to  day,  he  grew  morose ; 
he  seemed  to  love  no  one;  all  things  hurt  him;  he 
was  gentle  and  kind  to  his  mother  only.  The  baroness 
watched  with  ever  increasing  anxiety  the  progress  of 
his  madness ;  she  alone  was  able,  by  force  of  prayer 
and  entreaty,  to  make  him  swallow  food.  Toward 
the  end  of  October  the  sick  lad  ceased  to  go  even  to 
the  mall  in  search  of  the  chevalier,  who  now  came 
vainly  to  the  house  to  tempt  him  out  with  the  coaxing 
wisdom  of  an  old  man. 

"We  can  talk  of  Madame  de  Rochefide,"  he  would 
say.     "I  '11  tell  you  my  first  adventure." 

"Your  son  is  very  ill,"  he  said  privately  to  the 
baroness,  on  the  day  he  became  convinced  that  all 
such  efforts  were  useless. 

Calyste  replied  to  questions  about  his  health  that  he 


Beatrix.  279 

wrs  perfectly  well ;  but  like  all  young  victims  of  mel- 
ancholy, he  took  pleasure  in  the  thought  of  death.  He 
no  longer  left  the  house,  but  sat  in  the  garden  on  a 
bench,  wanning  himself  in  the  pale  and  tepid  sun- 
shine, alone  with  his  one  thought,  and  avoiding  all 
companionship. 

Soon  after  the  day  when  Calyste  ceased  to  go  even 
to  Les  Touches,  Felicite  requested  the  rector  of  Gue- 
rande  to  come  and  see  her.  The  assiduity  with  which 
the  Abbe  Grimont  called  every  morning  at  Les 
Touches,  and  sometimes  dined  there,  became  the 
great  topic  of  the  town ;  it  was  talked  of  all  over  the 
region,  and  even  reached  Nantes.  Nevertheless,  the 
rector  never  missed  a  single  evening  at  the  hotel  du 
Gueuic,  where  desolation  reigned.  Masters  and 
servants  were  all  afflicted  at  Calyste's  increasing 
weakness,  though  none  of  them  thought  him  in  dan- 
ger; how  could  it  ever  enter  the  minds  of  these  good 
people  that  youth  might  die  of  love  ?  Even  the  chev- 
alier had  no  example  of  such  a  death  among  his  memo- 
ries of  life  and  travel.  They  attributed  Calyste's 
thinness  to  want  of  food.  His  mother  implored  him 
to  eat.  Calyste  endeavored  to  conquer  his  repugnance 
in  order  to  comfort  her;  but  nourishment  taken  against 
his  will  served  only  to  increase  the  slow  fever  which 
was  now  consuming  the  beautiful  young  life. 

During  the  last  days  of  October  the  cherished  child 
of  the  house  could  no  longer  mount  the  stairs  to  his 
chamber,  and  his  bed  was  placed  in  the  lower  hall, 
where  he  was  surrounded  at  all  hours  by  his  family. 
They  sent  at  last  for  the  Gu^rande  physician,  who 
broke  the  fever  with  quinine  and  reduced  it  in  a  few 


280  Beatrix. 

days,  ordering  Calyste  to  take  exercise,  and  find 
something  to  amuse  him.  The  baron,  on  this,  came 
out  of  his  apathy  and  recovered  a  little  of  his  old 
strength;  he  grew  younger  as  his  son  seemed  to  age. 
AV  ith  Calyste,  Gasselin,  and  his  two  fine  dogs,  he  started 
for  the  forest,  and  for  some  days  all  three  hunted. 
Calyste  obeyed  his  father  and  went  where  he  was  told, 
from  forest  to  forest,  visiting  friends  and  acqaintances 
in  the  neighboring  chateaus.  But  the  youth  had  no 
spirit  or  gayety ;  nothing  brought  a  smile  to  his  face ; 
his  livid  and  contracted  features  betrayed  an  utterly 
passive  being.  The  baron,  worn  out  at  last  by  fatigue 
consequent  on  this  spasm  of  exertion,  was  forced  to 
return  home,  bringing  Calyste  in  a  state  of  exhaustion 
almost  equal  to  his  own.  For  several  days  after 
their  return  both  father  and  son  were  so  dangerously 
ill  that  the  family  were  forced  to  send,  at  the  request 
of  the  Guerande  physician  himself,  for  two  of  the 
best  doctors  in  Nantes. 

The  baron  had  received  a  fatal  shock  on  realizing 
the  change  now  so  visible  in  Calyste.  With  that 
lucidity  of  mind  which  nature  gives  to  the  dying,  he 
trembled  at  the  thought  that  his  race  was  about  to 
perish.  He  said  no  word,  but  he  clasped  his  hands 
and  prayed  to  God  as  he  sat  in  his  chair,  from  which 
his  weakness  now  prevented  him  from  rising.  The 
father's  face  was  turned  toward  the  bed  where  the 
son  lay,  and  he  looked  at  him  almost  incessantly.  At 
the  least  motion  Calyste  made,  a  singular  commotion 
stirred  within  him,  as  if  the  flame  of  his  own  life  were 
flickering.  The  baroness  no  longer  left  the  room 
where  Zephirine  sat  knitting  in  the  chimney-corner  in 


Beatrix.  281 

horrible  uneasiness.  Demands  were  made  upon  the 
old  woman  for  wood,  father  and  son  both  suffering 
from  the  cold,  and  for  supplies  and  provisions,  so  that, 
finally,  not  being  agile  enough  to  supply  these  wants, 
she  had  given  her  precious  keys  to  Mariotte.  But 
she  insisted  on  knowing  everything;  she  questioned 
Mariotte  and  her  sister-in-law  incessantly,  asking  in 
a  low  voice  to  be  told,  over  and  over  again,  the  state 
of  her  brother  and  nephew.  One  night,  when  father 
and  son  were  dozing.  Mademoiselle  de  Pen-Hoel  told 
her  that  she  must  resign  herself  to  the  death  of  her 
brother,  whose  pallid  face  was  now  the  color  of  wax. 
The  old  woman  dropped  her  knitting,  fumbled  in 
her  pocket  for  a  while,  and  at  length  drew  out  an  old 
chaplet  of  black  wood,  on  which  she  began  to  pray 
with  a  fervor  which  gave  to  her  old  and  withered  face 
a  splendor  so  vigorous  that  the  other  old  woman  imi- 
tated her  friend,  and  then  all  present,  on  a  sign  from  the 
rector,  joined  in  the  spiritual  uplifting  of  Mademoiselle 
du  Guenic. 

"Alas!  I  prayed  to  God,"  said  the  baroness,  remem- 
bering her  prayer  after  reading  the  fatal  letter  written 
by  Calyste,  "and  he  did  not  hear  me." 

"Perhaps  it  would  be  well,"  said  the  rector,  "if  we 
begged  Mademoiselle  des  Touches  to  come  and  see 
Calyste." 

"She!"  cried  old  Zephirine,  "the  author  of  all  our 
misery!  she  who  has  turned  him  from  his  family,  who 
has  taken  him  from  us,  led  him  to  read  impious  books, 
taught  him  an  heretical  language !  Let  her  be  accursed, 
and  may  God  never  pardon  her!  She  has  destroyed 
the  du  Gunnies! " 


m 


282  Be'atrix. 

"She  may  perhaps  restore  them,"  said  the  rector,  in 
a  gentle  voice.  "Mademoiselle  des  Touches  is  a 
saintly  woman;  I  am  her  surety  for  that.  She  has 
none  but  good  intentions  to  Calyste.  May  she  only 
be  enabled  to  carry  them  out." 

"  Let  me  know  the  day  when  she  sets  foot  in  this 
house,  that  I  may  go  out  of  it,"  cried  the  old  woman 
passionately.  "She  has  killed  both  father  and  son. 
Do  you  think  I  don't  hear  death  in  Calyste's  voice? 
he  is  so  feeble  now  that  he  has  barely  strength  to 
whisper." 

It  was  at  this  moment  that  the  three  doctors  arrived. 
They  plied  Calyste  with  questions;  but  as  for  his 
father,  the  examination  was  short;  they  were  surprised 
that  he  still  lived  on.  The  Guerande  doctor  calmly 
told  the  baroness  that  as  to  Calyste,  it  would  probably 
be  best  to  take  him  to  Paris  and  consult  the  most 
experienced  physicians,  for  it  would  cost  over  a  hun- 
dred louis  to  bring  one  down. 

"People  die  of  something,  but  not  of  love,"  said 
Mademoiselle  de  Pen-HoeL 

"Alas!  whatever  be  the  cause,  Calyste  is  dying," 
said  the  baroness.  "  I  see  all  the  symptoms  of  con- 
sumption, that  most  horrible  disease  of  my  country, 
about  him." 

"Calyste  dying! "  said  the  baron,  opening  his  eyes, 
from  which  rolled  two  large  tears  which  slowly  made 
their  way,  delayed  by  wrinkles,  along  his  cheeks,  — 
the  only  tears  he  had  probably  ever  shed  in  all  his 
life.  Suddenly  he  rose  to  his  feet,  walked  the  few 
steps  to  his  son's  bedside,  took  his  hand,  and  looked 
earnestly  at  him.   - 


Beatrix,  283 

*'What  18  it  you  want,  father?"  said  Calyste. 

"That  you  should  live!  "  cried  the  baron. 

"1  cannot  live  without  Beatrix,"  replied  Calyste. 

The  old  man  dropped  into  a  chair. 

**0h!  where  could  we  get  the  hundred  louis  to  bring 
doctors  from  Paris?  There  is  still  time,"  cried  the 
baroness. 

"A  hundred  louis!*'  cried  Zephirine;  *'will  that 
save  him  ?  " 

Without  waiting  for  her  sister-in-law's  reply,  the 
old  maid  ran  her  hands  through  the  placket-holes  of 
her  gown,  unfastened  the  petticoat  beneath  it,  which 
gave  forth  a  heavy  sound  as  it  dropped  to  the  floor. 
She  knew  so  well  the  places  where  she  had  sewn  in 
her  louis  that  she  now  ripped  them  out  with  the  rapidity 
of  magic.  The  gold  pieces  rang  as  they  fell,  one  by 
one,  into  her  lap.  The  old  Pen-Hoel  gazed  at  this 
performance  in  stupefied  amazement. 

"But  they  '11  see  you !  "  she  whispered  in  her  friend's 
ear. 

"Thirty-seven,"  answered  Zephirine,  continuing  to 
count. 

"Every  one  will  know  how  much  you  have." 

"Forty-two." 

"Double  louis!  all  new!  How  did  you  get  them, 
you  who  can't  see  clearly?" 

"I  felt  them.  Here  's  one  hundred  and  four  louts,** 
cried  Zephirine.     "Is  that  enough?" 

"What  is  all  this?"  asked  the  Chevalier  du  Halga, 
who  now  came  in,  unable  to  understand  the  attitude 
of  his  old  blind  friend,  holding  out  her  petticoat  which 
was  full  of  gold  coins. 


284  Beatrix, 

Mademoiselle  Pen-Hoel  explained. 

"I  knew  it,"  said  the  chevalier,  "and  I  have  come 
to  bring  a  hundred  and  forty  louis  which  I  have  been 
holding  at  Calyste's  disposition,  as  he  knows  very 
well." 

The  chevalier  drew  the  rouleaux  from  his  pocket 
and  showed  them.  Mariotte,  seeing  such  wealth,  sent 
Gasselin  to  lock  the  doors. 

"Gold  will  not  give  him  health,"  said  the  baroness, 
weeping. 

"But  it  can  take  him  to  Paris,  where  he  can  find  her. 
Come,  Calyste." 

"Yes,"  cried  Calyste,  springing  up,  "I  will  go." 

"He  will  live,"  said  the  baron,  in  a  shaking  voice; 
"and  I  can  die  —  send  for  the  rector!  " 

The  words  cast  terror  on  all  present.  Calyste, 
seeing  the  mortal  paleness  on  his  father's  face,  for  the 
old  man  was  exhausted  by  the  cruel  emotions  of  the 
scene,  came  to  his  father's  side.  The  rector,  after 
hearing  the  report  of  the  doctors,  had  gone  to  Made- 
moiselle des  Touches,  intending  to  bring  her  back  with 
him  to  Calyste,  for  in  proportion  as  the  worthy  man 
had  formerly  detested  her,  he  now  admired  her,  and 
protected  her  as  a  shepherd  protects  the  most  precious 
of  his  flock. 

When  the  news  of  the  baron's  approaching  end  be- 
came known  in  Guerande,  a  crowd  gathered  in  the 
street  and  lane;  the  peasants,  the  paludiers,  and  the 
servants  knelt  in  the  court-yard  while  the  rector  admin- 
istered the  last  sacraments  to  the  old  Breton  warrior. 
The  whole  town  was  agitated  by  the  news  that  the 
father   was   dying    beside   his  half-dying   son.     The 


Beatrix.  285 

probable  extinction  of  this  old  Breton  race  was  felt  to 
be  a  public  calamity. 

The  solemn  ceremony  affected  Calyste  deeply.  His 
filial  sorrow  silenced  for  a  moment  the  anguish  of  his 
love.  During  the  last  hour  of  the  glorious  old  de- 
fender of  the  monarchy,  he  knelt  beside  him,  watch- 
ing the  coming  on  of  death.  The  old  man  died  in  his 
chair  in  presence  of  the  assembled  family. 

*'I  die  faithful  to  God  and  his  religion,"  he  said. 
"My  God!  as  the  reward  of  my  efforts  grant  that 
Calyste  may  live !  " 

''I  shall  live,  father;  and  I  will  obey  you,"  said  the 
young  man. 

*'If  you  wish  to  make  my  death  as  happy  as  Fanny 
has  made  my  life,  swear  to  me  to  maiTy." 

*'I  promise  it,  father." 

It  was  a  touching  sight  to  see  Calyste,  or  rather  his 
shadow,  leaning  on  the  arm  of  the  old  Chevalier  du 
Halga  —  a  spectre  leading  a  shade  —  and  following 
the  baron's  coffin  as  chief  mourner.  The  church 
and  the  little  square  were  crowded  with  the  country 
people  coming  in  to  the  funeral  from  a  circuit  of  thirty 
miles. 

But  the  baroness  and  Z^phirine  soon  saw  that,  in 
spite  of  his  intention  to  obey  his  father's  wishes, 
Calyste  was  falling  back  into  a  condition  of  fatal 
stupor.  On  the  day  when  the  family  put  on  their 
mourning,  the  baroness  took  her  son  to  a  bench  in  the 
garden  and  questioned  him  closely.  Calyste  answered 
gently  and  submissively,  but  his  answers  only  proved 
to  her  the  despair  of  his  soul. 

*' Mother,"  he  said,  "there  is  no  life  in  me.     What 


286  Beatrix, 

I  eat  does  not  feed  me ;  the  air  that  enters  my  lungs 
does  not  refresh  me;  the  sun  feels  cold;  it  seems  to 
you  to  light  that  front  of  the  house,  and  show  you  the 
old  carvings  bathed  in  its  beams,  but  to  me  it  is  all 
a  blur,  a  mist.  If  Beatrix  were  here,  it  would  be 
dazzling.  There  is  but  one  only  thing  left  in  this 
world  that  keeps  its  shape  and  color  to  my  eyes,  —  this 
flower,  this  foliage,"  he  added,  drawing  from  his  breast 
the  withered  bunch  the  marquise  had  give  him  at 
Croisic. 

The  baroness  dared  not  say  more.  Her  son's 
answer  seemed  to  her  more  indicative  of  madness 
than  his  silence  of  grief.  She  saw  no  hope,  no  light 
in  the  darkness  that  surrounded  them. 

The  baron's  last  hours  and  death  had  prevented  the 
rector  from  bringing  Mademoiselle  des  Touches  to 
Calyste,  as  he  seemed  bent  on  doing,  for  reasons 
which  he  did  not  reveal.  But  on  this  day,  while 
mother  and  son  still  sat  on  the  garden  bench,  Calyste 
quivered  all  over  on  perceiving  Felicite  through  the 
opposite  windows  of  the  court-yard  and  garden.  She 
reminded  him  of  Beatrix,  and  his  life  revived.  It 
was  therefore  to  Camille  that  the  poor  stricken  mother 
owed  the  first  motion  of  joy  that  lightened  her 
mourning. 

"Well,  Calyste,"  said  Mademoiselle  des  Touches, 
when  they  met,  "I  want  you  to  go  to  Paris  with  me. 
We  will  find  Beatrix,"  she  added  in  a  low  voice. 

The  pale,  thin  face  of  the  youth  flushed  red,  and  a 
smile  brightened  his  features. 

''Let  us  go,"  he  said. 

"We    shall    save    him,"    said    Mademoiselle    des 


Beatrix.  287 

Touches  to   the  mother,  who  pressed  her  hands  and 
wept  for  joy. 

A  week  after  the  baron's  funeral,  Mademoiselle  des 
Touches,  the  Baronne  du  Gu^nic  and  Calyste  started 
for  Paris,  leaving  the  household  in  charge  of  old 
Zephirine. 


288  Beatria;. 


XVII. 

A   DEATH  :    A    MARRIAGE. 

Felicit:6's  tender  love  was  preparing  for  Calyste  a 
prosperous  future.  Being  allied  to  the  family  of 
Grandlieu,  the  ducal  branch  of  which  was  ending  in 
five  daughters  for  lack  of  a  male  heir,  she  had  written 
to  the  Duchesse  de  Grandlieu,  describing  Calyste  and 
giving  his  history,  and  also  stating  certain  intentions 
of  her  own,  which  were  as  follows :  She  had  lately 
sold  her  house  in  the  rue  du  Mont-Blanc,  for  which  a 
party  of  speculators  had  given  her  two  millions  five 
hundred  thousand  francs.  Her  man  of  business  had 
since  purchased  for  her  a  charming  new  house  in  the  rue 
de  Bourbon  for  seven  hundred  thousand  francs ;  one 
million  she  intended  to  devote  to  the  recovery  of  the  du 
Guenic  estates,  and  the  rest  of  her  fortune  she  desired 
to  settle  upon  Sabine  de  Grandlieu.  Felicite  had  long 
known  the  plans  of  the  duke  and  duchess  as  to  the 
settlement  of  their  five  daughters  :  the  youngest  was  to 
marry  the  Vicomte  de  Grandlieu,  the  heir  to  their  ducal 
title  ;  Clotilde-Frederique,  the  second  daughter,  desired 
to  remain  unmarried,  in  memory  of  a  man  she  had 
deeply  loved,  Lucien  de  Rubempre,  while,  at  the  same 
time,  she  did  not  wish  to  become  a  nun  like  her  eldest 
sister ;  two  of  the  remaining  sisters  were  already  mar- 
ried, and  the  youngest  but  one,  the  pretty  Sabine,  just 
twent}^  years  old,  was  the   only  disposable  daughter 


Beatrix.  289 

left.  It  was  Sabine  on  whom  F^licite  resolved  to  lay 
the  burden  of  curing  Calyste's  passion  for  Beatrix. 

During  the  journey  to  Paris  Mademoiselle  des 
Touches  revealed  to  the  baroness  these  arrangements. 
The  new  house  in  the  rue  de  Bourbon  was  being  deco- 
rated, and  she  intended  it  for  tlie  home  of  Sabine  and 
Calyste  if  her  plans  succeeded. 

The  party  had  been  invited  to  stay  at  the  h6tel  de 
Grandlieu,  where  the  baroness  was  received  with  all 
the  distinction  due  to  her  rank  as  the  wife  of  a  du 
Guenic  and  the  daughter  of  a  British  peer.  Mademoi- 
selle des  Touches  urged  Calyste  to  see  Paris,  while  she 
herself  made  the  necessary  inquiries  about  Beatrix 
(who  had  disappeared  from  the  world,  and  was  travel- 
ling abroad),  and  she  took  care  to  throw  him  into  the 
midst  of  diversions  and  amusements  of  all  kinds.  The 
season  for  balls  and  fetes  was  just  beginning,  and  the 
duchess  and  her  daughters  did  the  honors  of  Paris  to 
the  young  Breton,  who  was  insensibly  diverted  from  his 
own  thoughts  by  the  movement  and  life  of  the  great 
city.  He  found  some  resemblance  of  mind  between* 
Madame  de  Rochefide  and  Sabine  de  Grandlieu,  who 
was  certainly  one  of  the  handsomest  and  most  charm- 
ing girls  in  Parisian  society,  and  this  fancied  likeness 
made  him  give  to  her  coquetries  a  willing  attention 
which  no  other  woman  could  possibly  have  obtained 
from  him.  Sabine  herself  was  greatly  pleased  with 
Calyste,  and  matters  went  so  well  that  during  the 
winter  of  1837  the  young  Baron  du  Guenic,  whose 
youth  and  health  had  returned  to  him,  listened  without 
repugnance  to  his  mother  when  she  reminded  him  of 
the  promise  made  to  his  dying  father  and  proposed  to 

19 


290  Beatrix. 

him  a  marriage  with  Sabine  de  Grandlieii.  Still,  while 
agreeing  to  fulfil  his  promise,  he  concealed  within  his 
soul  an  indifference  to  all  things,  of  which  the  baroness 
alone  was  aware,  but  which  she  trusted  would  be  con- 
quered by  the  pleasures  of  a  happy  home. 

On  the  day  when  the  Grandlieu  family  and  the  baron- 
ess, accompanied  by  her  relations  who  came  from  Eng- 
land for  this  occasion,  assembled  in  the  grand  salon  of 
the  hotel  de  Grandlieu  to  sign  the  marriage  contract, 
and  Leopold  Hannequin,  the  family  notary,  explained 
the  preliminaries  of  that  contract  before  reading  it, 
Calyste,  on  whose  forehead  every  one  present  might 
have  noticed  clouds,  suddenly  and  curtly  refused  to 
accept  the  benefactions  offered  him  by  Mademoiselle 
des  Touches.  Did  he  still  count  on  Felicite's  devotion 
to  recover  Beatrix?  In  the  midst  of  the  embarrassment 
and  stupefaction  of  the  assembled  families,  Sabine  de 
Grandieu  entered  the  room  and  gave  him  a  letter,  ex- 
plaining that  Mademoiselle  des  Touches  had  requested 
her  to  give  it  to  him  on  this  occasion. 

Calyste  turned  away,  from  the  company  to  the  em- 
brasure of  a  window  and  read  as  follows ;  — 

Camille  Mawpin  to  Calyste. 

Calyste,  before  I  enter  my  convent  cell  I  am  per- 
mitted to  cast  a  look  upon  the  world  I  am  now  to  leave 
for  a  life  of  prayer  and  solitude.  That  look  is  to  you, 
who  have  been  the  whole  world  to  me  in  these  last 
months.  My  voice  will  reach  you,  if  my  calculations 
do  not  miscarry,  at  the  moment  of  a  ceremony  I  am 
unable  to  take  part  in. 


B4atrix.  291 

On  the  day  wbeu  you  stand  before  the  altar  giving 
your  hand  and  name  to  a  young  and  charming  girl 
who  can  love  you  openly  before  earth  and  heaven, 
I  shall  be  before  another  altar  in  a  convent  at  Nantes 
betrothed  forever  to  him  who  will  neither  fail  nor 
betray  me.  But  I  do  not  write  to  sadden  you,  —  only  to 
entreat  you  not  to  hinder  by  false  delicacy  the  service 
I  have  wished  to  do  you  since  we  first  met.  Do  not 
contest  my  rights  so  dearly  bought. 

If  love  is  suflfering,  ah !  I  have  loved  you  indeed, 
my  Calyste.  But  feel  no  remorse ;  the  only  happiness 
I  have  known  in  life  I  owe  to  you ;  the  pangs  were 
caused  by  my  own  self.  Make  me  compensation, 
then,  for  all  those  pangs,  those  sorrows,  by  causing 
me  an  everlasting  joy.  Let  the  poor  Camille,  who  is 
no  longer,  still  be  something  in  the  material  comfort 
you  enjoy.  Dear,  let  me  be  like  the  fragrance  of 
flowers  in  your  life,  mingling  myself  with  it  unseen 
and  not  importunate. 

To  you,  Calyste,  I  shall  owe  my  eternal  happiness; 
will  you  not  acoept  a  few  paltry  and  fleeting  benefits 
from  me  ?  Surely  you  will  not  be  wanting  in  generos- 
ity ?  Do  you  not  see  in  this  the  last  message  of  a  re- 
nounced love?  Calyste,  the  world  without  you  had 
nothing  more  for  me ;  you  made  it  the  most  awful  of 
solitudes  ;  and  you  have  thus  brought  Camille  Maup?n, 
the  unbeliever,  the  writer  of  books,  which  I  am  soon  to 
repudiate  solemnly  —  you  have  cast  her,  daring  and 
pei-verted,  bound  hand  and  foot,  before  God. 

I  am  to-day  what  I  might  have  been,  what  I  was 
born  to  be,  —  innocent,  and  a  child.  I  have  washed 
my  robes   in   the  tears  of  repentance;   I  can  come 


292  Beatrix. 

before  the  altar  whither  my  guardian  angel,  my 
beloved  Calyste,  has  led  me.  With  what  tender  com- 
fort I  give  you  that  name,  which  the  step  I  now  take 
sanctifies.  I  love  you  without  self-seeking,  as  a 
mother' loves  her  son,  as  the  Church  loves  her  children. 
I  can  pray  for  you  and  for  yours  without  one  thought 
or  wish  except  for  your  happiness.  Ah !  if  you  only 
knew  the  sublime  tranquillity  in  which  1  live,  now  that 
I  have  risen  in  thought  above  all  petty  earthly  inter- 
ests, and  how  precious  is  the  thought  of  doing  (as 
your  noble  motto  says)  our  duty,  you  would  enter 
your  beautiful  new  life  with  unfaltering  step  and  never 
a  glance  behind  you  or  about  you.  Above  all,  my 
earnest  prayer  to  you  is  that  you  be  faithful  to  your- 
self and  to  those  belonging  to  you.  Dear,  society,  in 
which  you  are  to  live,  cannot  exist  without  the  religion 
of  duty,  and  you  will  terribly  mistake  it,  as  I  mistook 
it,  if  you  allow  yourself  to  yield  to  passion  and  to 
fancy,  as  I  did.  Woman  is  the  equal  of  man  only  in 
making  her  life  a  continual  offering,  as  that  of  man  is 
a  perpetual  action ;  my  life  has  been,  on  the  contrary,  one 
long  egotism.  It  may  be  that  God  placed  you,  toward 
evening,  by  the  door  of  my  house,  as  a  messenger  from 
himself,  bearing  my  punishment  and  my  pardon. 

Heed  this  confession  of  a  woman  to  whom  fame  has 
been  like  a  pharos,  warning  her  of  the  only  true  path. 
Be  wise,  be  noble ;  sacrifice  your  fancy  to  your  duties, 
as  head  of  your  race,  as  husband,  as  father.  Raise 
the  fallen  standard  of  the  old  du  Guenics;  show  to 
this  century  of  irreligion  and  want  of  principle  what 
a  gentleman  is  in  all  his  grandeur  and  his  honor. 
Dear  child  of  my  soul,  let  me  play  the  part  of  a  mother 


Beatrix.  293 

to  you ;  your  own  mother  will  not  be  jealous  of  this 
voice  from  a  tomb,  these  hands  uplifted  to  heaven, 
imploring  blessings  on  you.  To-day,  more  than  ever, 
does  rank  and  nobility  need  fortune.  Calyste,  accept 
a  part  of  mine,  and  make  a  worthy  use  of  it.  It  is 
not  a  gift;  it  is  a  trust  I  place  in  your  hands.  I  have 
thought  more  of  your  children  and  of  your  old  Breton 
house  than  of  you  in  offering  you  the  profits  which 
time  has  brought  to  my  property  in  Paris. 

"Let  us  now  sign  the  contract,"  said  the  young 
baron,  returning  to  the  assembled  company. 

The  Abb^  Grimont,  to  whom  the  honor  of  the  con- 
version of  this  celebrated  woman  was  attributed, 
became,  soon  after,  vicar-general  of  the  diocese. 

The  following  week,  after  the  marriage  ceremony, 
which,  according  to  the  custom  of  many  families  of 
the  faubourg  Saint-Germain,  was  celebrated  at  seven 
in  the  morning  at  the  church  of  Saint  Thomas  d'Aquin, 
Calyste  and  Sabine  got  into  their  pretty  travelling- 
carriage,  amid  the  tears,  embraces,  and  congratula- 
tions of  a  score  of  friends,  collected  under  the  awning 
of  the  hotel  de  Grandlieu.  The  congratulations  came 
from  the  four  witnesses,  and  the  men  present;  the 
tears  were  in  the  eyes  of  the  Duchesse  de  Grandlieu 
and  her  daughter  Clotilde,  who  both  trembled  under 
the  weight  of  the  same  thought,  — 

'*She  is  launched  upon  the  sea  of  life!  Poor 
Sabine !  at  the  mercy  of  a  man  who  does  not  marry 
entirely  of  his  own  free  will." 

Marriage  is  not  wholly  made  up  of  pleasures,  —  as 
fugitive  in  that  relation  as  in  all  others;  it  Involves 


29J:  Beatrix. 

compatibility  of  temper,  physical  sympathies,  har- 
monies of  character,  which  make  of  that  social  neces- 
sity an  eternal  problem.  Marriageable  daughters, 
as  well  as  mothers,  know  the  terms  as  well  as  the 
dangers  of  this  lottery ;  and  that  is  why  women  weep 
at  a  wedding  while  men  smile ;  men  believe  that  they 
risk  nothing,  while  women  know,  or  very  nearly 
know,  what  they  risk. 

In  another  carriage,  which  preceded  the  married 
pair,  was  the  Baronne  du  Guenic,  to  whom  the  duchess 
had  said  at  parting,  — 

"You  are  a  mother,  though  you  have  only  had  one 
son ;  try  to  take  my  place  to  my  dear  Sabine. " 

On  the  box  of  the  bridal  carriage  sat  a  chasseur^ 
who  acted  as  courier,  and  in  the  rumble  were  two 
waiting-maids.  The  four  postilions  dressed  in  their 
finest  uniforms,  for  each  carriage  was  drawn  by  four 
horses,  appeared  with  bouquets  on  their  breasts  and 
ribbons  on  their  hats,  which  the  Due  de  Grandlieu 
had  the  utmost  difficulty  in  making  them  relinquish, 
even  by  bribing  them  with  money.  The  French  pos- 
tilion is  eminently  intelligent,  but  he  likes  his  fun. 
These  fellows  took  their  bribes  and  replaced  their 
ribbons  at  the  barrier 

"Well,  good-bye,  Sabine,"  said  the  duchess;  "re- 
member your  promise ;  write  to  me  often.  Calyste,  I 
say  nothing  more  to  you,  but  you  understand  me." 

Clotilde,  leaning  on  the  youngest  sister  Athenais, 
who  was  smiling  to  the  Vicomte  de  Grandlieu,  cast  a 
reflecting  look  through  her  tears  at  the  bride,  and 
followed  the  carriage  with  her  eyes  as  it  disappeared 
to  the  clacking  of  four  whips,  more  noisy   than  the 


Beatrix,  295 

shots  of  a  pistol  gallery.  In  a  few  minutes  the  gay 
convoy  had  reached  the  esplanade  of  the  Invalides, 
the  barrier  of  Passy  by  the  quay  of  the  Pont  d'lena, 
and  were  fairly  on  the  high-road  to  Brittany. 

Is  it  not  a  singular  thing  that  the  artisans  of 
Switzerland  and  Germany,  and  the  great  families  of 
France  and  England  should,  one  and  all,  follow  the 
custom  of  setting  out  'on  a  journey  after  the  marriage 
ceremony?  The  great  people  shut  themselves  in  a 
box  which  rolls  along;  the  little  people  gayly  tramp 
the  roads,  sitting  down  in  the  woods,  banqueting  at 
the  inns,  as  long  as  their  joy,  or  rather  their  money 
lasts.  A  moralist  is  puzzled  to  decide  on  which  side 
is  the  finer  sense  of  modesty,  —  that  which  hides  from 
the  public  eye  and  inaugurates  the  domestic  hearth 
and  bed  in  private,  as  do  the  worthy  burghers  of  all 
lands,  or  that  which  withdraws  from  the  family  and 
exhibits  itself  publicly  on  the  high-roads  and  in  face 
of  strangers.  One  would  think  that  delicate  souls 
might  desire  solitude  and  seek  to  escape  both  the 
world  and  their  family.  The  love  which  begins  a 
marriage  is  a  pearl,  a  diamond,  a  jewel  cut  by  the 
choicest  of  arts,  a  treasure  to  bury  in  the  depths  of 
the  soul. 

Who  can  relate  a  honeymoon,  unless  it  be  the  bride? 
How  many  women  reading  this  history  will  admit  to 
themselves  that  this  period  of  uncertain  duration  is  the 
forecast  of  conjugal  life?  The  first  three  letters  of 
Sabine  to  her  mother  will  depict  a  situation  not  sur- 
prising to  some  young  brides  and  to  many  old  women. 
All  those  who  find  themselves  the  sick-nurses,  so  to 
speak,  of  a  husband's  heart,  do  not,  as  Sabine  did, 


296  Beatrix. 

discover  this  at  once.  But  young  girls  of  the  faubourg 
Saint-Germain,  if  intelligent,  are  women  in  mind. 
Before  marriage,  they  have  received  from  their  mothers 
and  the  world  they  live  in  the  baptism  of  good  man= 
ners;  though  women  of  rank,  anxious  to  hand  down 
their  traditions,  do  not  always  see  the  bearing  of  their 
own  lessons  when  they  say  to  their  daughters:  "That 
is  a  motion  that  must  not  be  made;"  ''Never  laugh 
at  such  things;"  ''No  lady  ever  flings  herself  on  a 
sofa;  she  sits  down  quietly;"  "Pray  give  up  such 
detestable  ways;"  "My  dear,  that  is  a  thing  which  is 
never  done,"  etc. 

Many  bourgeois  critics  unjustly  deny  the  inno- 
cence and  virtue  of  young  girls  who,  like  Sabine,  are 
truly  virgin  at  heart,  improved  by  the  training  of  their 
minds,  by  the  habit  of  noble  bearing,  by  natural  good 
taste,  while,  from  the  age  of  sixteen,  they  have  learned 
how  to  use  their  opera-glasses.  Sabine  was  a  girl  of 
this  school,  which  was  also  that  of  Mademoiselle  de 
Chaulieu.  This  inborn  sense  of  the  fitness  of  things, 
these  gifts  of  race  made  Sabine  de  Grandlieu  as  inter- 
esting a  young  woman  as  the  heroine  of  the  "Memoirs 
of  two  young  Married  Women."  Her  letters  to  her 
mother  during  the  honeymoon,  of  which  we  here  give 
three  or  four,  will  show  the  qualities  of  her  mind  and 
temperament. 

GuERANDE,  April,  1838. 

To  Madame  la  Duchesse  de  Grandlieu : 

Dear  Mamma,  —  You  will  understand  why  I  did  not 
write  to  you  during  the  journey,  —  our  wits  are  then 
like  wheels.     Here  I  am,  for   the  last  two  days,  in 


Beatrix,  207 

the  depths  of  Brittany,  at  the  h6tel  du  Gu^nic,  —  a 
house  as  covered  with  carving  as  a  sandal-wood 
box.  In  spite  of  the  affectionate  devotion  of 
Calyste's  family,  I  feel  a  keen  desire  to  fly  to  you, 
to  tell  you  many  things  which  can  only  be  trusted  to 
a  mother. 

Calyste  married,  dear  mamma,  with  a  great  sorrow 
in  his  heart.  We  all  knew  that,  and  you  did  not 
hide  from  me  the  difficulties  of  my  position;  but  alas! 
they  are  greater  than  you  thought.  Ah!  my  dear 
mother,  what  experience  we  acquire  in  the  short 
space  of  a  few  days  —  I  might  even  say  a  few  hours ! 
All  your  counsels  have  proved  fruitless ;  you  will  see 
why  from  one  sentence :  I  love  Calyste  as  if  he  were 
not  my  husband,  —  that  is  to  say,  if  I  were  man-ied 
to  another,  and  were  travelling  with  Calyste,  I  should 
love  Calyste  and  hate  my  husband. 

Now  think  of  a  man  beloved  so  completely,  invol- 
untarily, absolutely,  and  all  the  other  adverbs  you 
may  choose  to  employ,  and  you  will  see  that  my  ser- 
vitude is  established  in  spite  of  your  good  advice. 
You  told  me  to  be  grand,  noble,  dignified,  and  self- 
respecting  in  order  to  obtain  from  Calyste  the 
feelings  that  are  never  subject  to  the  chances  and . 
changes  of  life,  —  esteem,  honor,  and  the  considera- 
tion which  sanctifies  a  woman  in  the  bosom  of  her 
family.  I  remember  how  you  blamed,  I  dare  say 
justly,  the  young  women  of  the  present  day,  who,  under 
pretext  of  living  happily  with  their  husbands,  begin 
by  compliance,  flattery,  familiarity,  an  abandonment, 
you  called  it,  a  little  too  wanton  (a  word  I  did  not  fully 
understand),  all  of  which,  if  I  must  believe  you,  are 


298  Beatrix, 

relays  that  lead  rapidly  to  indifiference  and  possibly 
to  contempt.  ''Remember  that  you  are  a  Grandlieu!  ** 
yes,  I  remember  that  yon  told  me  all  that  — 

But  oh!  that  advice,  filled  with  the  maternal  elo- 
quence of  a  female  Daedalus  has  had  the  fate  of  all 
things  mythological.  Dear,  beloved  mother,  could  you 
ever  have  supposed  it  possible  that  I  should  begin  by 
the  catastrophe  which,  according  to  you,  ends  the 
honeymoon  of  the  young  women  of  the  present  day  ? 

When  Calyste  and  I  were  fairly  alone  in  the  travel- 
ling carriage,  we  felt  rather  foolish  in  each  other's 
company,  understanding  the  importance  of  the  first 
word,  the  first  look ;  and  we  both,  bewildered  by  the 
solemnity,  looked  out  of  our  respective  windows.  It 
became  so  ridiculous  that  when  we  reached  the  barrier 
monsieur  began,  in  a  rather  troubled  tone  of  voice,  a 
set  discourse,  prepared,  no  doubt,  like  other  improvi- 
sations, to  which  I  listened  with  a  beating  heart,  and 
which  I  take  the  liberty  of  here  abridging. 

"My  dear  Sabine,"  he  said,  "I  want  you  to  be 
happy,  and,  above  all,  do  I  wish  you  to  be  happy  in 
your  own  way.  Therefore,  in  the  situation  in  which 
we  are,  instead  of  deceiving  ourselves  mutually  about 
our  characters  and  our  feelings  by  noble  compliances, 
let  us  endeavor  to  be  to  each  other  at  once  what  we 
should  be  years  hence.  Think  always  that  you  have 
a  friend  and  a  brother  in  me,  as  I  shall  feel  I  have  a 
sister  and  a  friend  in  you." 

Though  it  was  all  said  with  the  utmost  delicacy,  I 
found  nothing  in  this  first  conjugal  love-speech  which 
responded  to  the  feelings  in  my  soul,  and  I  remained 
pensive  after  replying  that  I  was  animated  by  the  same 


Beatrix.  .  299 

sentiments.  After  this  declaration  of  our  rights  to 
mutual  coldness,  we  talked  of  weather,  relays,  and 
scenery  in  the  most  charming  manner,  —  I  with  rather 
a  forced  little  laugh,  he  absent-mindedly. 

At  last,  as  we  were  leaving  Versailles,  I  turned  to 
Calyste  —  whom  I  called  my  dear  Calyste,  and  he 
called  me  my  dear  Sabine  —  and  asked  him  plainly  to 
tell  me  the  events  which  had  led  him  to  the  point  of 
death,  and  to  which  I  was  aware  that  I  owed  the 
happiness  of  being  his  wife.  He  hesitated  long.  In 
fact,  my  request  gave  rise  to  a  little  argument  oetween 
us,  which  lasted  through  three  relays,  —  I  endeavoring 
to  maintain  the  part  of  an  obstinate  girl,  and  trying 
to  sulk;  he  debating  within  himself  the  question  which 
the  newspapers  used  to  put  to  Charles  X. :  *'Must  the 
king  yield  or  not?'*  At  last,  after  passing  Verneuil, 
and  exchanging  oaths  enough  to  satisfy  three  dynas- 
ties never  to  reproach  him  for  his  folly,  and  never  to 
treat  him  coldly,  etc.,  etc.,  he  related  to  me  his  love 
for  Madame  de  Rochefide. 

"I  do  not  wish,"  he  said,  in  conclusion,  "to  have 
any  secrets  between  us." 

Poor,  dear  Calyste,  it  seems,  was  ignorant  that  his 
friend.  Mademoiselle  des  Touches,  and  you  had 
thought  it  right  to  tell  me  the  truth.  Well,  mother, 
—  for  I  can  tell  all  to  a  mother  as  tender  as  you,  —  I 
was  deeply  hurt  by  perceiving  that  he  had  yielded  less 
to  my  request  than  to  his  own  desire  to  talk  of  that 
strange  passion.  Do  you  blame  me,  darling  mother, 
for  having  wished  to  reconnoitre  the  extent  of  the 
grief,  the  open  wound  of  the  heart  of  which  you  warned 
me?  " 


300  .  Beatrix. 

So,  eight  hours  after  receiving  the  rector's  blessing 
at  Saint-Thomas  d'Aquin,  your  Sabine  was  in  the 
rather  false  position  of  a  young  wife  listening  to  a 
confidence,  from  the  very  lips  of  her  husband,  of  his 
misplaced  love  for  an  unworthy  rival.  Yes,  there  I 
was,  in  the  drama  of  a  young  woman  learning, 
officially,  as  it  were,  that  she  owed  her  marriage  to 
the  disdainful  rejection  of  an  old  and  faded  beauty ! 

Still,  I  gained  what  I  sought.  ''What  was  that?" 
you  will  ask.  Ah!  mother  dear,  I  have  seen  too  much 
of  love  going  on  around  me  not  to  know  how  to  put  a 
little  of  it  into  practice.  Well,  Calyste  ended  the 
poem  of  his  miseries  with  the  warnjest  protestations  of 
an  absolute  forgetting  of  what  he  called  his  madness. 
All  kinds  of  affirmations  have  to  be  signed,  you 
know.  The  happy  unhappy  one  took  my  hand,  car- 
ried it  to  his  lips,  and,  after  that,  he  kept  it  for  a  long 
time  clasped  in  his  own.  A  declaration  followed. 
That  one  seemed  to  me  more  comformable  than  the 
first  to  the  demands  of  our  new  condition,  though  our 
lips  said  never  a  word.  Perhaps  I  owed  it  to  the 
vigorous  indignation  I  felt  and  showed  at  the  bad 
taste  of  a  woman  foolish  enough  not  to  love  my  beau- 
tiful, my  glorious  Calyste. 

They  are  calling  me  to  play  a  game  of  cards,  which 
I  do  not  yet  understand.  I  will  finish  my  letter  to- 
morrow. To  leave  you  at  this  moment  to  make  a 
fifth  at  mouche  (that  is  the  name  of  the  game)  can 
only  1)6  done  in  the  depths  of  Brittany  —  Adieu. 

Your  Sabine. 


Beatrix.  301 

Gu6rande,  May,  1838. 

I  TAKE  up  my  Odyssey.  On  the  third  day  your 
children  no  longer  used  the  ceremonious  ''you;"  they 
thee'd  and  thou'd  each  other  like  lovers.  My  mother- 
in-law,  enchanted  to  see  us  so  happy,  is  trying  to  take 
your  place  to  me,  dear  mother,  and,  as  often  happens 
when  people  play  a  part  to  efface  other  memories,  she 
has  been  so  charming  that  she  is,  almost^  you  to  me. 

I  think  she  has  guessed  the  heroism  of  my  conduct, 
for  at  the  beginning  of  our  journey  she  tried  to  hide 
her  anxiety  with  such  care  that  it  was  visible  from 
excessive  precaution. 

When  I  saw  the  towers  of  Guerande  rising  in  the 
distance,  I  whispered  in  the  ear  of  your  son-in-law, 
"Have  you  really  forgotten  her?'  My  husband,  now 
become  my  angel^  can't  know  anything,  I  think,  about 
sincere  and  simple  love,  for  the  words  made  him  wild 
with  happiness.  Still,  I  think  the  desire  to  put  Ma- 
dame de  Rochefide  forever  out  of  his  mind  led  me 
too  far.  But  how  could  I  help  it?  I  love,  and  I 
am  half  a  Portuguese,  —  for  I  am  much  more  like 
you,  mamma,  than  like  my  father. 

Calyste  accepts  all  from  me  as  spoilt  children  accept 
things,  they  think  it  their  right;  he  is  an  only  child,  I 
remember  that.  But,  between  ourselves,  I  will  not 
give  my  daughter  (if  I  have  any  daughters)  to  an  only 
son.  I  see  a  variety  of  tyrants  in  an  only  son.  So, 
mamma,  we  have  rather  inverted  our  parts,  and  I  am 
the  devoted  half  of  the  pair.  There  are  dangers,  I 
know,  in  devotion,  though  we  profit  by  it;  we  lose  our 
dignity,  for  one  thing.  I  feel  bound  to  tell  you  of 
the  wreck  of  that  semi-virtue.     Dignity,  after  all,  is 


302  Beatrix. 

only  a  screen  set  up  before  pride,  behind  which  we 
rage  as  we  please;  but  how  could  I  help  it?  you  were 
not  here,  and  I  saw  a  gulf  opening  before  me.  Had  I 
remained  upon  my  dignity,  I  should  have  won  only 
the  cold  joys  (or  pains)  of  a  sort  of  brotherhood  which 
would  soon  have  drifted  into  indifference.  What  sort 
of  future  might  that  have  led  to?  My  devotion  has,  I 
know,  made  me  Calyste's  slave;  but  shall  I  regret  it? 
We  shall  see. 

As  for  the  present,  I  am  delighted  with  it.  I  love 
Calyste;  I  love  him  absolutely,  with  the  folly  of  a 
mother,  who  thinks  that  all  her  son  may  do  is  right, 
even  if  he  tyrannizes  a  trifle  over  her. 

Gu^RANDE,  May  15th. 

Up  to  the  present  moment,  dear  mamma,  I  find  mar- 
riage a  delightful  affair.  I  can  spend  all  my  tender- 
ness on  the  noblest  of  men  whom  a  foolish  woman 
disdained  for  a  fiddler,  —  for  that  woman  evidently 
was  a  fool,  and  a  cold  fool,  the  worst  kind!  I,  in  my 
legitimate  love,  am  charitable ;  I  am  curing  his  wounds 
while  I  lay  my  heart  open  to  incurable  ones.  Yes, 
the  more  I  love  Calyste,  the  more  I  feel  that  I  should 
die  of  grief  if  our  present  happiness  ever  ceased. 

I  must  tell  you  how  the  whole  family  and  the  circle 
which  meets  at  the  hotel  du  Guenic  adore  me.  They 
are  all  personages  born  under  tapestries  of  the  highest 
warp ;  in  fact,  they  seem  to  have  stepped  from  those 
old  tapestries  as  if  to  prove  that  the  impossible  may 
exist.  Some  day,  when  we  are  alone  together,  I  will 
describe  to  you  my  Aunt  Zephirine,  Mademoiselle  de 
Pen-Hoel,  the  Chevalier  du   Halga,  the   Demoiselles 


BSatrix,  303 

de  Kergarouet,  and  others.  They  all,  even  to  the  two 
servants,  Gasselin  and  Mariotte  (whom  I  wish  they 
would  let  me  take  to  Paris),  regard  me  as  an  angel  sent 
from  heaven;  they  tremble  when  I  speak.  Dear 
people !  they  ought  to  be  preserved  under  glass. 

My  mother-in-law  has  solemnly  installed  us  in  the 
apartments  formerly  occupied  by  herself  and  her  late 
husband.  The  scene  was  touching.  She  said  to 
us,  — 

*'I  spent  my  whole  mamed  life,  a  happy  woman,  in 
these  rooms ;  may  the  omen  be  a  happy  one  for  you, 
my  children." 

She  has  taken  Calyste's  fonner  room  for  hers. 
Saintly  soul !  she  seems  intent  on  laying  off  her  mem- 
ories and  all  her  conjugal  dignities  to  invest  us  with 
them.  The  province  of  Brittany,  this  town,  this 
family  of  ancient  morals  and  ancient  customs  has,  in 
spite  of  certain  absurdities  which  strike  the  eye  of  a 
frivolous  Parisian  girl,  something  inexplicable,  some- 
thing grandiose  even  in  its  trifles,  which  can  only  be 
defined  by  the  word  sacred. 

All  the  tenants  of  the  vast  domains  of  the  house  of 
Guenic,  bought  back,  as  you  know,  by  Mademoiselle 
des  Touches  (whom  we  are  going  to  visit  in  her  con- 
vent), have  been  in  a  body  to  pay  their  respects  to  us. 
These  worthy  people,  in  their  holiday  costumes,  ex- 
pressing their  genuine  joy  in  the  fact  that  Calyste  has 
now  become  really  and  truly  their  master,  made  me 
understand  Brittany,  the  feudal  system  and  old  France. 
The  whole  scene  was  a  festival  I  can't  describe  to  you 
in  writing,  but  I  will  tell  you  about  it  when  we  meet. 
The  terms  of  the  leases  have  been  proposed  by  the  fjars 


304  Beatrix. 

themselves.  We  shall  sign  them,  after  making  a  tour 
of  inspection  round  the  estates,  which  have  been 
mortgaged  away  from  us  for  one  hundred  and  fifty 
years!  Mademoiselle  de  Pen-Hoel  told  me  that  the 
gars  have  reckoned  up  the  revenues  and  estimated  the 
rentals  with  a  veracity  and  justice  Parisians  would 
never  believe. 

We  start  in  three  days  on  horseback  for  this  trip. 
I  will  write  you  on  my  return,  dear  mother.  I  shall 
have  nothing  more  to  tell  you  about  myself,  for  my 
happiness  is  at  its  height  —  and  how  can  that  be 
told  ?  I  shall  write  you  only  what  you  know  already, 
and  that  is,  how  I  love  you. 

Nantes,  June,  1838. 
Having  now  played  the  role  of  a  chatelaine,  adored 
by  her  vassals  as  if  the  revolutions  of  1789  and  1830 
had  lowered  no  banners;  and  after  rides  through  for- 
ests, and  halts  at  farmhouses,  dinners  on  oaken  tables, 
covered  with  centenary  linen,  bending  under  Homeric 
viands  served  on  antediluvian  dishes;  after  drinking 
the  choicest  wines  in  goblets  to  volleys  of  musketry, 
accompanied  by  cries  of  "  Long  live  the  Guenics ! " 
till  I  was  deafened ;  after  balls,  where  the  only  orches- 
tra was  a  bagpipe,  blown  by  a  man  for  ten  hours ;  and 
after  bouquets,  and  young  brides  who  wanted  us  to 
bless  them,  and  downright  weariness,  which  made  me 
find  in  my  bed  a  sleep  I  never  knew  before,  with 
delightful  awakenings  when  love  shone  radiant  as  the 
sun  pouring  in  upon  me,  and  scintillating  with  a 
million  of  flies,  all  buzzing  in  the  Breton  dialect!  — 
in   short,   after   a   most    grotesque   residence   in   the 


BSatrix.  305 

Cbdteau  du  Gu^nic,  where  the  windows  are  gates  and 
the  cows  graze  peacefully  on  the  grass  in  the  halls 
(which  castle  we  have  sworn  to  repair  and  to  inhabit 
for  a  while  every  year  to  the  wild  acclamations  of  the 
clan  du  Guenic,  a  gars  of  which  bore  high  our  banner) 
—  ouf !  I  am  at  Nantes. 

But  oh !  what  a  day  was  that  when  we  arrived  at 
the  old  castle!  The  rector  came  out,  mother,  with 
all  his  clergy,  crowned  with  flowers,  to  receive  us  and 
bless  us,  expressing  such  joy,  —  the  tears  are  in  my 
eyes  as  I  think  of  it.  And  my  noble  Calyste!  who 
played  his  part  of  seigneur  like  a  personage  in  Walter 
Scott!  My  lord  received  his  tenants'  homage  as  if  he 
were  back  in  the  thirteenth  century.  I  heard  the  girls 
and  the  women  saying  to  each  other,  *' Oh,  what  a 
beautiful  seigneur  we  have!"  for  all  the  world  like 
an  opera  chorus.  The  old  men  talked  of  Calyste 's 
resemblance  to  the  former  Guenics  whom  they  had 
known  in  their  youth.  Ah!  noble,  sublime  Brittany  I 
land  of  belief  and  faith!  But  progress  has  got  its 
eye  upon  it;  bridges  are  being  built,  roads  made, 
ideas  are,  coming,  and  then  farewell  to  the  sublime ! 
rhe  peasants  will  certainly  not  be  as  free  and  proud 
as  I  have  now  seen  them,  when  progress  has  proved  to 
them  that  they  are  Calyste*s  equals  —  if,  indeed,  they 
could  ever  be  got  to  believe  it. 

After  this  poem  of  our  pacific  Restoration  had  been 
sung,  and  the  contracts  and  leases  signed,  we  left 
that  ravishing  land,  all  flowery,  gay,  solemn,  lonely 
by  turns,  and  came  here  to  kneel  with  our  happiness 
at  the  feet  of  her  who  gave  it  to  us. 

Calyste  and  I  both  felt  the  need  of  thanking  the 
20 


306  Beatrix. 

sister  of  the  Visitation.  In  memory  of  her  he  has 
quartered  his  own  arms  with  those  of  Des  Touches, 
which  are:  party  couped,  tranche  and  taille  or  and 
sinople,  on  the  latter  two  eagles  argent.  He  means 
to  take  one  of  the  eagles  argent  for  his  own  supporter 
and  put  this  motto  in  its  beak :  Souviegne-vous, 

Yesterday  we  went  to  the  convent  of  the  ladies  of 
the  Visitation,  to  which  we  were  taken  by  the  Abbe 
Grimont,  a  friend  of  the  du  Guenic  family,  who  told 
us  that  your  dear  Felicite,  mamma,  was  indeed  a  saint. 
She  could  not  very  well  be  anything  else  to  him,  for 
her  conversion,  which  was  thought  to  be  his  doing, 
has  led  to  his  appointment  as  vicar-general  of  the 
diocese.  Mademoiselle  des  Touches  declined  to  re- 
ceive Calyste,  and  would  only  see  me.  I  found  her 
slightly  changed,  thinner  and  paler;  but  she  seemed 
much  pleased  at  my  visit. 

"Tell  Calyste,"  she  said,  in  a  low  voice,  "that  it  is 
a  matter  of  conscience  with  me  not  to  see  him,  for  I 
am  permitted  to  do  so.  I  prefer  not  to  buy  that  hap- 
piness by  months  of  suffering.  Ah,  you  do  not  know 
what  it  costs  me  to  reply  to  the  question,  '  Of  what  are 
you  thinking?'  Certainly  the  mother  of  the  novices 
has  no  conception  of  the  number  and  extent  of 
the  ideas  which  are  rushing  through  my  mind  when 
she  asks  that  question.  Sometimes  I  am  seeing  Italy 
or  Paris,  with  all  its  sights;  always  thinking,  how- 
ever, of  Calyste,  who  is  "  —  she  said  this  in  that  poetic 
way  you  know  and  admire  so  much  —  "who  is  the  sun 
of  memory  to  me.  I  found,"  she  continued,  "that  I 
was  too  old  to  be  received  among  the  Carmelites,  and 
I  have  entered  the  order  of  Saint-FranQois  de  Sales 


Beatrix,  307 

solely  because  he  said,  '  I  will  bare  your  heads  instead 
of  your  feet/  —  objecting,  as  he  did,  to  austerities 
which  mortified  the  body  only.  It  is,  in  truth,  the 
head  that  sins.  The  saintly  bishop  was  right  to  make 
his  rule  austere  toward  the  intellect,  and  terrible 
against  the  will.  That  is  what  I  sought;  for  my 
head  was  the  guilty  part  of  me.  It  deceived  me  as  to 
my  heart  until  I  reached  that  fatal  age  of  forty,  when, 
for  a  few  brief  moments,  we  are  forty  times  happier 
than  young  women,  and  then,  speedily,  fifty  times 
more  unhappy.  But,  my  child,  tell  me,"  she  asked, 
ceasing  with  visible  satisfaction  to  speak  of  herself, 
'*are  you  happy?" 

"You  see  me  under  all  the  enchantments  of  love  and 
happiness,"  I  answered. 

*'Calyste  is  as  good  and  simple  as  he  is  noble  and 
beautiful,"  she  said,  gravely.  *'I  have  made  you  my 
heiress  in  more  things  than  property ;  you  now  possess 
the  double  ideal  of  which  I  dreamed.  I  rejoice  in 
what  I  have  done,"  she  continued,  after  a  pause. 
''But,  my  child,  make  no  mistake;  do  yourself  no 
wrong.  You  have  easily  won  happiness;  you  have 
only  to  stretch  out  your  hand  to  take  it,  and  it  is 
yours ;  but  be  careful  to  preserve  it.  If  you  had  come 
here  solely  to  carry  away  with  you  the  counsels  that  my 
knowledge  of  your  husband  alone  can  give  you,  the 
journey  would  be  well  repaid.  Calyste  is  moved  at 
this  moment  by  a  communicated  passion,  but  you  have 
not  inspired  it.  To  make  your  happiness  lasting,  try, 
my  dear  child,  to  give  him  something  of  his  former 
emotions.  In  the  interests  of  both  of  you,  be  capri- 
•  clous,  be  coquettish ;  to  tell  you  the  truth,  you  must 


308  Beatrix, 

be.  I  am  not  advising  any  odious  scheming,  or  petty 
tyranny;  this  that  I  tell  you  is  the  science  of  a 
woman's  life.  Between  usury  and  prodigality,  my 
child,  is  economy.  Study,  therefore,  to  acquire  honor- 
ably a  certain  empire  over  Calyste.  These  are  the 
last  words  on  earthly  interests  that  I  shall  ever  utter, 
and  I  have  kept  them  to  say  as  we  .part;  for  there  are 
times  when  I  tremble  in  my  conscience  lest  to  save 
Calyste  I  may  have  sacrificed  you.  Bind  him  to  you, 
firmly,  give  him  children,  let  him  respect  their  mother 
in  you  —  and,"  she  added  in  a  low  and  trembling 
voice,  ''manage,  if  you  can,  that  he  shall  never  again 
see  Beatrix." 

That  name  plunged  us  both  into  a  sort  of  stupor; 
we  looked  into  each  other's  eyes,  exchanging  a  vague 
uneasiness. 

"  Do  you  return  to  Guerande  ?  "  she  asked  me. 

''Yes,"  I  said. 

"Never  go  to  Les  Touches.  I  did  wrong  to  give 
him  that  property." 

"Why?"  I  asked. 

"Child!"  she  answered,  "Les  Touches  for  you  is 
Bluebeard's  chamber.  There  is  nothing  so  dangerous 
as  to  wake  a  sleeping  passion.'* 

I  have  given  you,  dear  mamma,  the  substance,  or  at 
any  rate,  the  meaning  of  our  conversation.  If  Made- 
moiselle des  Touches  made  me  talk  to  her  freely,  she 
also  gave  me  much  to  think  of ;  and  all  the  more  be- 
cause, in  the  delight  of  this  trip,  and  the  charm  of 
these  relations  with  my  Calyste,  I  had  well-nigh  for- 
gotten the  serious  situation  of  which  I  spoke  to  you 
in  my  first  letter.  , 


BSatrix.  309 

But  oh!  mother,  it  is  impossible  for  me  to  follow 
these  counsels.  I  cannot  put  an  appearance  of  oppo- 
sition or  caprice  into  my  love;  it  would  falsify  it. 
Calyste  will  do  with  me  what  he  pleases.  According 
to  your  theory,  the  more  I  am  a  woman  the  more  I 
make  myself  his  toy ;  for  I  am,  and  I  know  it,  horribly 
weak  in  my  happiness;  I  cannot  resist  a  single  glance 
of  my  lord.  But  no !  I  do  not  abandon  myself  to  love ; 
I  only  cling  to  it,  as  a  mother  presses  her  infant  to  her 
breast,  fearing  some  evil. 

Calyste,  rich  and  married  to  the  most  beautiful 
woman  in  Paris,  retains  a  sadness  in  his  soul  which 
nothing  dissipates,  —  not  even  the  birth  of  a  son  at 
Guerande,  in  1839,  to  the  great  joy  of  Zephirine  du 
Guenic.  Beatrix  lives  still  in  the  depths  of  his  heart, 
and  it  is  impossible  to  foresee  what  disasters  might 
result  should  he  again  meet  with  Madame  de 
Rochefide. 


THE    END. 


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